Not Over Yet
by IndieGothGirl
Summary: Just when Mickey has found happiness with Mia and feels ready to move on from his traumatic past he learns history has a nasty way of repeating itself. Rated M. Please RnR.
1. Prologue

Disclamer: None of the characters featured in his story belong to me I just borrow them for my fics.

Author's Notes: There was an inaccuracy in the prologue with the job role of the person monitoring the prisoner his has been corrected and the prologue been deleted and redone. Words in _Italics _are character's thoughts.

**Not Over Yet**

**By IndieGothGirl**

Prologue

_Sunday 27th August_

There was nothing particularly outstanding about Canley High-Security Prison in fact it looked like any other prison. A drab, brick, building with had a high wall that was topped with barbed wire. Inside it was dark and dank as rows upon rows of cells lined the walls.

The junior prison officer made his way down the corridor to the end cell. He was making his daily check upon the occupant of the cell who was considered to be a dangerous criminal and had already escaped once and was put on suicide watch as he had taken in bad inside during his first stint in prison back in 2003 and had been put on 24 hour surveillance.

The prisoner was a middle-aged man with short blonde hair and piecing blue eyes that followed the prison officer around the room and made him feel intimidated especially as he remembered that the prisoner had convictions for murdering a fellow prisoner from his first stint inside and raping a male police officer but that wasn't the reason the junior prison officer was making his check as quickly as possible. He been invited to a night of heavy drinking by his drinking buddies and like most young men of his age he liked a good drink and since it was a Sunday and booze was cheaper in their local on a Sunday, presumably an attempt by the landlord to entice more people into the pub despite the fact that most people would have spent all their money on booze the night before, meant the junior prison officer was eager to get off.

The junior prison officer rushed through this check. Yes the prisoner's mental health seemed to be ok and there were no obvious signs of him attempting suicide and there weren't any clear signs of him trying to make a second escape attempt. Relieved that it had not taken very long to inspect the prisoner's cell the officer quickly made his out and with a sigh of relief locked the cell door.

If the junior prison officer had been in such a rush to get out and enjoy himself and bothered, instead, to do his job properly he would have asked the prisoner to remove himself from where he was sitting upon the hard, cold, floor upon which the officer would have seen the escape tunnel the prisoner had spent the last month digging.

As soon as the junior prison officer had disappeared from view the prisoner made his way down the hole. _Some High-Security prison this is. I've managed to escape from it again in the space of 9 months. Ha I'm coming for you DC Webb I didn't hurt you last time but this time you're going to pay for putting me back inside._

With that the prisoner climbed out of the other side of the hole and made his way across Canley Park and to his mother's house under the night sky.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: None of the characters featured this story belong to me I'm just borrowing them for my fic.

Chapter 1

_Monday 28th August_

It was a beautiful summer's morning; the sun shone down upon the streets making the whole world seem brighter. As Mickey Webb made his way into work that morning he had one of those strange moments were it felt like the weather was a visual representation of how he felt. Yesterday he had felt depressed and life had felt like a chore today, however, he felt happy and care-free and ready to live his life to the fullest. He knew that the way he was now feeling was down to his girlfriend – Press Officer Mia Perry – who, last night, had shown him that sex could have meaning and value an opinion he had lost when he had been raped.

When Mickey arrived at the station he found Mia waiting for him at the entrance. He went over to her and kissed her on the lips.

'Morning,' she said when he broke away. 'Did you enjoy last night?' she whispered.

'Yeah,' he whispered back, passionately, 'and I fink that we should do it again sometime.'

'Umm…' she muttered back in agreement as she pulled him into a passionate embrace. Their lips meet as they kissed each other with fierce devotion; becoming unaware of any of the other people around them until:

'Oi Mickey you actually gonna do some work to day?' Phil Hunter's voice boomed out from the staircase that led up to the CID office.

Embarrassed at having been caught out by someone Mickey pulled away from Mia.

'Yeah alright I'm coming,' he called back to Phil. Then he turned back to Mia and said, 'sorry I'll 'ave to go.'

'See you at lunch?' she asked.

'Yeah about 12:30.'

He then went to catch up with Phil.

'What's gotten into you?' asked Phil when Mickey caught up with him.

'Wot do you mean?' asked Mickey defensively.

'Well you and Mia kissing like that in front of everyone?'

'And what's your point? She's my girlfriend I'm gonna kiss 'er like that, ain't I?'

'Well yeah ok but yesterday you couldn't stand anyone touching you. You shouted at me when all I did was brush past you and accidentally caught your t-shirt, making it clear you didn't want to be touched yet today you're all over Mia, how come?'

'Look I'm sorry about my reaction and shouting at you, yesterday ok?'

'Ok. Though you still haven't answered my question why are you all over Mia today?'

'Let's just say she showed me 'ow good somefing I'd forgotten about could be, ok?' replied Mickey, cryptically.

He continued on up the stairs before Phil could ask anymore questions, a big smile upon his face.

Elsewhere on that Monday morning, the junior prison officer who had rather incompetently done his job last night so he could rush the pub found himself knocking upon the senior prison officer's door.

The junior prison officer's name was Craig Johnson but he was more commonly known by his nick-name, Geordie, by the other prison officers on account that he originally came from Newcastle-upon-Tyne and still spoke with a strong Geordie accent as he had only been living London as short period of time.

'Enter!' called the senior prison officer, whose name was Jim Crowell.

Geordie did so.

'Ah, Johnson, how can I help you?' boomed Crowell.

'Ah've got summat to inform you of, like, sir,' he began, 'and I divven't think you ganna like it.'

'What's happened?'

'Martin Delaney has escaped again; sir, and I thought you ought to knaa on account of him being a dangerous criminal, like.'

'Escaped! Again! How!' Crowell exclaimed.

'We Ah din' knaa how really, sir, cause Ah checked his cell last night and it was fine. Nee signs of him attempting to escape, like, then when Ah comes in a checks it again this morning the bugger's gone, like, and Ah thought I'd best come tell yer, like, cause Ah knaa he's a dangerous criminal, that Delaney, and he likes to get revenge on those that wronged him.'

'Well he's he to go after? He killed Eddie McGowan and he's too much of a vicious coward to confront Trevor Makin; the guy who raped him during his first stint inside,' asked Crowell.

'What about that Detective Sergeant, Mickey Webb was his name Ah think? The one that helped with the investigation when Delaney escaped last time wouldn't Martin go after him for revenge for putting back inside, like?'

'Wasn't he guy that Delaney raped three years ago?'

'Aye.'

'I'm sure he was demoted back to DC and out of NCS because he's involvement with Delaney's case after he escaped last time was unofficial. I think he's back in Sun Hill working under Jack Meadows.'

'Reckon we should inform Sun Hill then, serge, cause if this DC Webb's a victim of Delaney's it could be dangerous for him now he's escaped again, like.'

'I shan't tell them yet myself - that'll be for the Warden to decide – he's away at the moment, of course, but I'll have a word with him when he returns tomorrow. Right dismissed.'

_Home sweet 'ome. _Mickey pulled his black Ford Focus onto the driveway and turned off the ignition. He was just about to get out the car when he saw someone at the window of the passenger's side. It was a man with piercing blue eyes and blonde hair with the most evil look upon his face. He was wearing a demin jacket and a cream shirt with blue jeans. When Mickey realised who it was his heart skipped a beat at first he thought he was having a nightmare but the something in the back of his mind told him it was not.

Suddenly the other man opened the car door and got into the passenger side. He looked at Mickey and said in his Scottish lilt:

'Hello pretty boy.'

'What are you doing here?' demanded Mickey.

He could feel himself trembling but he didn't want to give Delaney the satisfaction of knowing that he was afraid of him so he forced himself to keep the fear out of his voice.

'Just paying Mah favourite policeman a visit,' smiled Delaney.

'You're meant to be inside, Delaney, I watched you get arrested for the murder of Eddie McGowan, not here playing with my mind!'

'Aye well I escaped. The bloody prison officer in that place is an incompetent, northern buffoon. He didna even notice the entrance to the tunnel Ah'd been digging,' laughed Delaney, 'and if ye wondering Ah escaped this time to come and see ye. See I've been thinking about you, Mickey, I can never stop thinking about you.'

With that he reached over and kissed the young DC with such passion, forcing his tongue down Mickey's throat; tasting the young man's mouth while Mickey struggled to get away.

'Now Mickey you're going to do what I say, my pretty boy, otherwise I might have to hurt you,' said Delaney as he broke off his crude parody of a kiss.

Suddenly Mickey felt a knife pressing against his stomach. He swallowed, feeling his Adam's apple job in his throat as he did so. He wouldn't put it past the bastard to rape him again and then murder him with that wretched knife of his or something like that. For now it was probably better to do what he said. If it looked like he was in danger he could always call the DCI for help on his mobile.

'Ok, ok I'll do anyfing you like just don't 'urt me.'

'Silly boy like Ah could ever hurt someone as beautiful as you. Now drive,' Delaney demanded, 'and don't stop until I tell you to.'

It was evening of that very day and the sun was beginning to set in the stretch of down land known as the South Downs, which stretch for seventy miles, from Winchester to Eastborne, and through three counties (a part of Hampshire, West Sussex and East Sussex).

Eight hundred and eighty six feet (two hundred and seventy meters) Butser Hill, just south of the market town of Petersfield, Hampshire, rises vertically making it the highest point in the South Downs here the sun had already set upon the summit but there was still sunlight at the foot of the down this meant that although everything was quiet at the top of the down, down in the undergrowth at the foot everything was much less subdued. Insects buzzed, hummed, and droned as the air grew warmer in the sunset while larger animals shuffled and stalked in the undergrowth, looking for their evening meal.

Suddenly a lone car, a black Ford Focus pulled up into the corner of the undergrowth where, almost covered by the trees and bushes which had long overgrown, lay a little farm house. Two men, both with blonde haired and blue eyes got out of the car. The younger and smaller of the two locked the car then took in his surroundings. The fact that the area was very rural and that they had being on the road for sometime told Mickey he was some way away from London but perhaps that had been Delaney's intention – to get him away from the city as far as possible so that Jack and the rest of the Sun Hill team would not find him quickly once they realised he was missing.

For Mickey having to drive for two/three hours with his rapist sitting next to him had been a, terrible, emotional, ordeal and he had been very close to breaking down; a shivering, nervous wreck but he didn't want anyone to see his weaker, vulnerable side; least of all Delaney so he had kept it all in. It was this desire to remain strong that gave him the courage to ask what they were doing out here in the sticks next to an old farm house.

'Well we dinna' want any of your friends from Sun Hill finding us now, do we? So I thought we'd go as far away from them as possible. Better get used to this place, pretty boy, this is gonna be your home from now on.'

Mickey shuddered as he took in the farmhouse. He didn't like it at all it was creepy and it looked like it hadn't been used for sometime.

The farmhouse was a modest affair and very primitive. None of the locals of nearby Petersfield were sure of its age as it had been abandoned for so long but it must have been sometime before the 1940s as it was built from bricks from one of the four brickyards in Petersfield; none of whom had survived the wartime restrictions imposed upon them by the Ministry of Defence during the Second World War. Most of its windows had been destroyed and the panes were, of course, old wooden ones which had practically rotted away. There were tiles missing from the roof and chimney in fact the only thing that remained intact was the little green door.

Before Mickey had anymore time to think about the condition of his new accommodation Delaney was ushering him inside, gently closing the door behind them as the air grew colder, and the insets stopped buzzing, humming, and droning and the larger animals finished of their evening meals and returned to their homes, and the sun finally set at the foot of the down.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All the characters in this story belong to "The Bill" apart from the staff of Canley High Security Prison which are all my own.

Author's Notes: All words in _Italics _are character's thoughts. Apologises for the lengthy wait for this chapter but because I am doing a college course, working in a part-time job and spending the reminder of my time with my boyfriend I do not have much time to write at the moment.

Chapter 2

Tuesday 29th August

Senior prison officer Jim Crowell had requested to speak to the warden of Canley High-Security Prison (who also happened to be his supervisor) first thing on the Tuesday morning, as this would be his first day back from being away, this request had been granted so at exactly 9 o' clock had that very morning Crowell found himself knocking upon the warden's office door.

'Enter!' boomed the warden's voice. Crowell did so.

Malcolm Winston Truscott had been warden for Canley High-Security Prison for at least 10 years, having spent 15 years prior to that as a prison officer in various prisons throughout London, and gradually working his way up the ladder to his current position. Given his experience there was little that he was unprepared for. He was a middle-aged man with greying hair and wore old fashioned horned rimmed spectacles and was rather plumb, which gave him a rather comical appearance. There was, however, nothing comical about his no nonsense attitude and, as a result of this, a lot of the younger, newer members of staff were slightly afraid of him.

'Ah! PO Crowell. What can I do for you?'

Crowell shook slightly his boss was in a good mood and he knew that that was going to change the minute he opened his mouth and told his boss what had happened while he'd been away. He was not looking forward to it.

'Well?'

Crowell took a deep breath then said:

'We've got a situation, sir,' he began.

'What sort of situation, officer?' asked Truscott. The tone of his senior PO's voice told him that whatever situation had occurred while he was away it was not a good one.

'Well I'm afraid Martin Delaney has escaped again, sir.'

'May I enquire as into how, PO Crowell?'

'Well, sir, junior officer Johnson-'

'Junior officer?' interrupted Truscott, looking up at Crowell over his glasses.

'Yes, sir,' replied Crowell.

'Are you saying an inexperienced junior officer was left to monitor a criminal as dangerous as Martin Delaney unsupervised?'

'Yes, sir.'

Why? That is what I would like to know, PO Crowell,' demanded Truscott.

'Well, sir, as you are know doubt aware we are rather understaffed at the moment and as you were away I, as the next most senior officer, had to undertake your duties thus the role of monitoring the high-risk prisoners had fallen upon a junior.'

'Very well, PO Crowell, I accept that you had a lot of extra responsibilities and that we are rather short on prison officers at the moment but this is a High-Security prison our prisoners aren't meant to escape once never mind twice,' said Truscott. He sighed. 'You'd better tell me exactly what happened, Crowell, and then I can decide what to do about this whole dreadful mess and who should be informed of it and when.'

'I don't think its fair to blame Johnson, sir,' replied Crowell, 'I mean he may be young but he is shaping up to be a good prison officer, sir, and everyone makes mistakes, don't they?'

'I'm not blaming Johnson at this moment in time, PO Crowell, I'm blaming you.'

Crowell winced uneasily at his superior's remark but all he said was: 'Very well, sir.'

'Now then what actually happened?'

'Well, sir, as far as I can make out from Johnson's account is that, for some reason, on the Sunday evening when he made his check he failed to notice the hole in the floor which Delaney had dug although he swears he thoroughly checked the cell.'

Truscott sighed to himself. He had just spent a long weekend with his wife of 20 years in France. It had been a wonderful holiday for both of them and good for them both as because of his job they didn't see each other as much as perhaps they would like. For the first time in ages he had felt relaxed and he had returned to work in good spirits to, straight away, be bought back down to earth with a bump by his senior prison officer.

'So let me get this straight,' he said, a little peeved off with the incompetence of his staff, 'Delaney had dug a hole which, for whatever reason, one of your officers, who was a junior member of staff anyway, failed to notice even though he claims to have thoroughly checked the cell.'

'Yes, sir.'

'But surely, senior officer Crowell, if the cell was indeed thoroughly checked, as your officer claims, then he would have noticed there was a big gaping hole in the wall. Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps this young Johnson is lying to you?'

'Lying to me, sir, I don't think he'd do that, sir.'

'Perhaps not,' agreed Truscott, 'but let's look at his logically shall we? It was Sunday night and I do recall one of the young officers telling me a few weeks ago that the local pub sells its beers cheaper on a Sunday so it could be that Johnson was in a rush to get off to this pub and didn't bother to check the cell properly.'

'Well we can't be sure of that though, sir, but if that is the case he would never admit it, would he? '

'Have you asked him if that was the case?' inquired Truscott.

'Err no – not really, sir,' replied Crowell, sheepishly.

'Well either you have or you haven't,' snapped Truscott.

Crowell looked at his feet foolishly. Truscott picked up on his body language and said:

'I'll take that as a no then, PO Crowell. Well what do _you _think we should do about this?'

'Me sir,' squawked Crowell, surprised. It was his responsibility to pass on what had happened to the warden. It was not his responsibility to decide what was to be done.

'Yes you Crowell who do you think I meant?' sighed Truscott in despair.

'Well, sir, we could do nothing at all but I think that would be irresponsible of us,' he added hastily, aware of the warden's scrutiny, 'or we could give a description of Delaney's appearance and what he was wearing when he escaped to the neighbouring houses and tell the residents to keep a look out or him and call us if they see him or we could go out and see if we can find him ourselves or we could report Delaney's escape to someone, Scotland Yard, perhaps or even Sun Hill after all they've had dealings with Delaney in the past,' then as an afterthought: 'really, sir, if you think about it we could do any of the latter three suggestions as they are all pretty plausible.'

'Yes, but which of the three would _you _do?' persisted Truscott.

'Well, sir, given their involvement with Delaney in the past and the fact that one of their male officers was sexually assaulted by Delaney I would be inclined to inform Sun Hill of the situation.'

Truscott smiled a small smile to himself, pleased that his senior prison officer was at last showing some signs of intelligence and competence.

'Good man that's what I was hoping you were going to say. I'll contact Sun Hill as soon as we're done. Right anything else you need to discuss, about anything at all, while we're here.'

'No sir that's it.'

'Right dismissed.'

As Crowell left the office Truscott picked up the receiver of the telephone upon his desk and dialled the number of Sun Hill Police Station.

'Sun Hill Police Station Mary-Ann Jackson speaking. How may I help you?' said the receptionist in a sing-song voice.

'Hello this is Malcolm Winston Truscott, the warden of Canley High-Security prison I wish to speak to DCI Jack Meadows it's urgent.'

'Please hold, sir, while I see if he is currently available.'

Beethoven's fifth sympathy played through Truscott's receiver as he waited for Mary-Ann to get back to him. Suddenly the music stopped and Mary-Ann's voice said:

'DCI Meadows is currently available. I'm just going to patch you through to him, sir.'

Then Truscott heard a click and then in the next moment a Yorkshire accented voice said:

'Hello DCI Jack Meadows speaking.'

'Hello. I am Malcolm Winston Truscott, the warden of Canley High-Security prison. I have urgent news for you, sir, regarding Martin Delaney.'

'Martin Delaney?' asked Jack a little perplexed.

'Yes. I am afraid, through incompetence and inexperience by members of my staff; he has managed to escape again. I can only apologise for all of this.'

_Oh my God! No! What on earth, am I going to tell Mickey and just when he has finally got things sorted with Mia and for the first time in a long time seems happy. He's going to be devastated to know that his rapist is once more at large._

'I don't mean to be rude, warden, but I think you must be forgetting that Delaney sexually assaulted one of my male officers. I don't think an apology is going to cut it.'

'DCI Meadows I am well aware of what Delaney did to your officer and I assure you my officers and I will do everything we possibly can to get Delaney back inside I just thought that I ought to make you aware of the situation so that perhaps you can at least offer some sort of protection for your officer that Delaney assaulted.'

'Yes, of course, thank you very much for bringing this to my attention. Good bye now.'

Good bye.'

With that Jack hung up and sat back in his chair, eyes closed, he knew he had to tell Mickey of the situation. He did not know how.

Little did Jack know, of course, that he would not get the chance to tell Mickey of the situation for Mickey would never make it into work that day. Indeed the young DC was already very much aware of the situation.

The _ktiktiri-kri krikri_ sound of a partridgeawoke Mickey that morning. At first he was startled as to where he was but he then remembered the previous night's events and lay back upon the bed, taking in his surroundings. The bedroom itself was a dank, pokey, room and it had been abandoned for so long the wallpaper had peeled off all of the walls, leaving the bare concrete underneath exposed. Mickey was sleeping on one of those old-fashioned beds with the metal frames, the kind that reminds you of a bed in an army barracks. The only other pieces of furniture in the room were an old-fashioned dressing table with a mirror in the middle and an antique wardrobe. A single light hung down from ceiling in the bedroom but it was a gas light rather than an electric one. Mickey shivered: this place really gave him the creeps.

Suddenly the door was gently opened and Mickey's heart skipped a beat as Martin Delaney entered the room carrying a tray upon which was an old water jug and basin he had found in the kitchen and had filled with water and a plate which contained a full English breakfast.

'Good morning, my pretty boy!' smiled Delaney.

'I ain't you pretty boy,' Mickey managed to snap back.

'Temper, temper,' Delaney mocked.

_I ain't gonna let 'im do this to me, I ain't gonna let him victimise me in this way. I'm going to hit back at 'im._

'They're gonna find us, you know,' Mickey spoke up suddenly, referring to his Sun Hill colleagues, 'because the prison officers will, 'ave by now, realised you've escaped again and cause of the ra…' he couldn't say the word, no matter how much he tried, it stuck in his throat and he swallowed and said, instead, '…cause of what you did to me last time they'll 'ave informed my governor at Sun Hill.'

'Ah told ye yesterday, Mickey, no one knows we're here and they isna' gonna find us,' smiled Delaney, evilly.

He gently reached over and kissed Mickey on the cheek

'Now eat up your breakfast like a good boy,' he mocked

Delaney then left the room as the tears rolled down Mickey's cheek, washing away the feeling of the kiss.

Jack was seriously worried. Mickey's shift was about to begin and the young DC had yet to turn in. _This isn't like him. He's never late he's always here up to twenty minutes before he's due to start. That prison warden said Martin Delaney has escaped what if he's already got to Mickey and hurt him… Come on, Jack, get a grip on yourself you're meant to be the staunch DCI who lets nothing get to him but that's just the image you show to the rest of the relief, isn't it? Really you're just as unsettled by things as they are especially this because it involves Mickey. Now just calm down Delaney might not yet have got to him. The most sensible thing to do would be to ask Mia if she had seen him but how do I go about explaining to her why I want to know if she asks without panicking her? I can't exactly go up to her and say, "hi Mia have you seen Mickey because he's rapist has escaped from prison again and I think he's kidnapped Mickey."_

So Jack spent the rest of the morning in his office, brooding over what exactly he was going to say to Mia.

As look would have it, however, it was Mia who ended out approaching Jack about Mickey's lack of appearance at work that morning. At approximately 2:15 Jack had decided to take his refs. He liked to take his refs in the early afternoon as by that time the lunch time rush would have withered and died.

As Jack entered the canteen he saw that the only other person there, aside from the canteen staff, was Mia. Unsure of what to say to her Jack proceeded to purchase his lunch, which consisted of tuna pasta and a spotted dick with custard, and sat in the corner of the room, wondering what to say to Mia.

'Jack I'm so glad you're here.'

Jack, startled, looked up quickly and saw Mia sanding above him.

'What's the matter?' asked Jack, concerned.

'It's Mickey. I haven't seen him since yesterday evening and he hasn't turned in for shift today and I've tried calling his mobile but it does goes straight to voice mail. Do you know where he could be?'

Jack looked away; he just didn't know what to say to Mia about Delaney.

Unfortunately for Jack Mia caught his look and said:

'Jack, please, Mickey is my boyfriend if you know where he is. I _need _to know.'

Jack sighed: 'You're right he is your boyfriend and therefore you deserve to know,' he said, 'I got a call from Canley High Security Prison saying Martin Delaney has escaped again.'

'Oh my God, Jack, do you think Delaney has done something to Mickey?'

'I don't know Mia, I really don't know.'

'What if he doesn't turn up?'

'Then we shall have to report it,' said Jack putting his arms round Mia to comfort her.

Jack sighed to himself, as he held Mia close, he knew he had to wait twenty four hours before he could report Mickey missing. _Where are you Mickey?_


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_Wednesday 30th August_

Trembling, trembling, and trembling; the fear just wouldn't stop: wouldn't go away no matter how much he tried as he realised that his worst nightmare had come true, and he knew, that although he was trying to be brave when the bastard was in the room, that he was losing it. He had always thought that if _he _found him again he wouldn't be able to handle it. He couldn't think of anything worse than being trapped in this dilapidated old farmhouse, in the middle of nowhere, with this bastard; the one person he wanted to be as far away as possible from. Thankfully the bastard had gone out for the afternoon or so he assumed, where he had gone to in this desolate countryside, where the only sounds were those of the rustling of the leaves in the trees as the wind blew through them and the occasional bird call, the young man did not know nor did he particularly care. He was just glad that the bastard had gone and left him alone at last.

The young man's mind flashed back to what Jack had said to him the day Mia had offered her support now she knew about the rape, when he had reacted to her touch and fled. **_'It's ok he's back inside, remember, you helped but him back there. You're safe here, you're safe.'_**

_But he ain't back inside now, is 'e? An' I ain't safe any more 'cause he's 'ere with me and I know what 'e's gonna do to me. _

With that the tears splashed down the young man's face but he let them fall. He didn't care who saw his fear now; he was beyond caring. After awhile he calmed down and drifted off to sleep.

When he awoke it was early evening. The sun had already set upon the higher ground and the last few rays where catching the fields next to the farm house. The front door had been slammed open and then shut again and it was that had awoken him.

Suddenly he could here footsteps ascending the stairs. He knew who it was and he shivered with terror in the next moment the bedroom door flung open and their stood the man from his nightmares: Martin Delaney.

'Evening DC Webb,' smiled Delaney with that false, evil, smile of his.

'What do you want with me?' snapped Mickey.

'I think you know the answer to that one already, Mickey.'

'Don't you dare touch me!'

'I've given you a roof over your head and I've fed you and looked after you and now its time for me to get something in return.'

'I'm warning you, Delaney, keep away from me!'

'Aye and what are ye gonna do about it if I don't? None of your precious Sun Hill colleagues are here to help you now, Mickey.'

'True but I'll stop you myself.'

'What like you did in the warehouse? You weren't man enough to stop me that time so what makes you think that you can this time?' mocked Delaney.

At that Mickey rushed at Delaney but once again the bastard proved stronger than him and before he knew it he was tired up to the bed with a rope Delaney had purchased while he was out.

'I've been thinking about you, Mickey, been wanting you.'

'You liar!' screamed Mickey, 'All you've been finking about is escaping again so that you could get back at me for putting you back inside.'

'Yes you shouldna' done that Mickey it wasn't very nice of you.'

'And you shouldn't 'ave killed Eddie McGowan.'

'Aye well he got what he deserved, didn't he? He shouldna' just stood by and actually tried to do something while Makin raped me. Now Mickey you're gonna get what you deserve for putting me back inside.'

Mickey felt Delaney's hands gently pulling up his t-shirt and running over the young DC's bare back, once more touching and taking. At this point Mickey began to panic and tried to tug away put the rope held him tightly.

'Why are you trying to resist me, Mickey? I know you want this,' smiled Delaney, 'You know these last eight months I've been thinking about what I was going to do. At first I thought that you should meet the same fate as Eddie McGowan but then I realised I could never kill anyone as beautiful as you.'

'Why didn't you 'urt me when you escaped the last time? I spent the last eight months puzzling over why you broke into my house and trashed the place up but never once 'urt me even though you 'ad a knife in your hand.'

'Yeah I went to your house with the intention to hurt you but then I realised I could never hurt you, Mickey.'

Softly Delaney lowered his hands down Mickey's back, making his way down towards the belt on Mickey's jeans. Carefully Delaney undid the belt and then gently pulled down Mickey's jeans and underwear, giving the young DC's arse a squeeze as he did so.

'I want to take you, Mickey, just like I did in the warehouse that night. I think you're pretty so, so pretty.'

He began to remove his own clothes, first his demin jacket and cream T-shirt and then his jeans. When Mickey saw this and realised what Delaney was going to do to him he started to panic again. He _couldn't_ let this happen again; he _wouldn't _let this happen again.

'No, no, get away from me you bastard!' he screamed.

'Now, now that's not a very nice thing to say DC Webb,' mocked Delaney running his hand over Mickey's semi-naked body, 'not when you want this as much as I do.'

It was then that he pushed his penis into Mickey relishing at the scream the young DC made as Mickey felt the warm skin to his own and his legs being forced apart.

'Please don't do this to me again,' cried Mickey, the tears streaming down his face, 'you don't want to do this.'

Ignoring the cries Delaney thrust harder, digging his fingers into Mickey's hips as he did so and drawing blood with his nails. Mickey's screams grew into short grunts as the pace became more rapid.

'That's it, scream and grunt for me, you bitch,' yelled Delaney, his evil, mocking laughter ringing through the air.

Delaney said no more after that. When he reached his climax he loosened his grip, leaving a trail or blood and seaman to trickle down the DC's leg. He dressed himself and then left the room closing the door behind him and leaving Mickey once more broken and half-dressed and sobbing.

When Mickey had failed to show up for his shift that morning Jack, having not wished to cause a major panic with his own officers since Mickey was one of their own, had immediately phoned up Barton Street and reported him missing to one of the their officers. As it was that officer, a PC Nikki Wallace, had immediately made her way over to Sun Hill to take a report from Jack.

Jack led PC Wallace into one of the interview rooms and Sun Hill and sat down. Although Jack had done missing person's reports many times before in his career today felt a little different for today he was sitting on the other side of the desk; the side that the person who was reporting a missing person sat. As he sat there he couldn't help wondering if Mickey had felt something like this when he had been interviewed by Ramani and himself after his rape by Delaney.

'Excuse me, sir, but are you ready to begin?' asked PC Wallace, breaking in on Jack's thoughts.

'Yes begin, please.'

'Very well, then. It has been twenty-four hours since DC Mickey Webb was last seen, yes?'

'Yes,' replied Jack.

'Where was the last seen?'

'Here. He was last seen by our receptionist, Mrs. Mary-Ann Jackson, leaving the station at approximately 5:15 pm on Monday 28th August.'

'Is there anywhere he could have gone to? Family somewhere, perhaps?'

'No. The only family member he was close to was his mother but she passed away three years ago and he doesn't speak to his father or his brother much.'

'Ok in that case what was DC Webb wearing when he left Sun Hill on Monday 28th?'

'Just is usual.'

'Which is?'

'Sorry. A demin jacket with a t-shirt, a blue one, and jeans.'

'Could you describe what DC Webb looks like, please?'

'Certainly. His of lean build, in his early 30s, white and has blonde hair and blue eyes.'

'Ok. Is there anyone reason to believe DC Webb may be in danger?'

Jack looked uncomfortable and a little reluctant to answer this question. PC Wallace picked up on this and said:

'Please DCI Meadows I know this is hard for you, what with DC Webb being a close friend of yours but you know as well as I do that all angles have to be covered and to do that you have to answer my questions.'

'Yes you're right,' agreed Jack, 'I'm letting my emotions get in the way here. You asked me if DC Webb was in any danger well the answer I can give to that one is possibly. You see Martin Delaney escaped from prison on the night of Sunday 27th August and I think is escape and DC Webb's disappearance are linked.'

'Ah,' said PC Wallace, a look of realisation upon her face. At the time the Delaney case had been well publicised by the press because of it involving the rape of a male police officer.

'Of course that now makes this a missing person at high risk.'

Jack only nodded in agreement.

'Right I think I got all the information I need, DCI Meadows,' said PC Wallace, 'I'll head back to Barton Street now and I'll get all this information put into the computer. Now I know you already know all this but I got to tell you anyway for procedure; once the information about the missing person has been put into the computer it will "circulate" them as missing on the National Police Computer that will mean that any police officer, nationally or internationally, can then contact us at Barton Street to find out more in-depth details. In about three days we'll release a number for the public to call in case they have seen anything.'

'Thank you very much, PC Wallace.'

'The pleasure is all mine, DCI Meadows, I only hope that we find DC Webb before Martin Delaney does anything to hurt him.'

_So do I, PC Wallace, so do I._

_Saturday 2nd September_

The warden of Canley High-Security Prison, Malcolm Winston Truscott, plonked a copy of the local newspaper, _The Canley Express_, upon the desk of his senior prison officer.

'Have you seen this morning's paper?' he asked.

'No, sir, should I have?' asked PO Crowell, he didn't see why his warden was getting agitated over a local newspaper.

'The police officer that Delaney raped,' began Truscott.

'What about him?

'He's gone missing, PO Crowell, he's been missing since Monday,' replied Truscott handing Crowell the paper so he could read the article.

'You don't think Delaney's escape and this DC Mickey Webb's disappearance are linked do you, sir?'

'I wouldn't like to say for definite but given DC Webb's involvement with Martin Delaney in the past and the fact that Delaney likes to take revenge on those that wronged him and it was DC Webb who helped put him back here last November I would say that it's highly likely the two are connected.'

'But we've done our bit, sir, haven't we? I mean we informed DCI Meadows at Sun Hill of Delaney's escape.'

'Yes but that was before DC Webb was reported missing. The long and short of it is: is that this will be a very public case giving the fact that it involves a police officer who may be held captive by the same guy that raped him three years ago. True Delaney is the evil one in all this but the media will look for someone to blame and that someone will be us especially if they discover that it was through the inexperience of one of our junior officers that Delaney was actually able to escape again. Can you imagine the headlines then? High-Security prison lets dangerous rapist escape again. For the sake of this prison's reputation it would be better if you and I went up to Sun Hill this morning and offered our services to DCI Meadows to help find DC Webb and recapture Delaney.'

'And if DCI Meadows refuses our help?'

'Then at least no can say we didn't offer.'

Within an hour Warden Malcolm Winston Truscott and PO Jim Crowell were sitting with DCI Jack Meadows in his office.

'Now,' said DCI Meadows, 'how may I help you, Warden Truscott?'

'Well DCI Meadows its more how can PO Crowell here and I you can help you?'

'Oh.'

'Now I know you're probably sitting here thinking; "what's this prison warden think he's up to. It's his fault all this has happened after all he was in the one who let Delaney escape" and both I and my staff are extremely sorry for that but both PO Crowell and I read the article in this morning's _Canley Express _and we wish to help you find your missing officer and recapture Martin Delaney if, indeed, he is involved in all this.'

Of course Jack knew Truscott's game having met many smarmy bastards like Truscott in his time; people who were pretending to be friendly and helpful and sympathetic but really they were just trying to cover their own backs, which is exactly what Truscott was doing. Normally Jack would have rejected so an unpleasant person's offer of help but he was so worried about Mickey's well-being and so desperate to find the young man that he found himself telling Truscott:

'My colleagues and I would be glad to except you offer of help.'

'Thank you very much, DCI Meadows. It has been a pleasure talking to you.'

With that both he and Crowell shuck Jack's hand and left the office, closing the door behind them, leaving poor Jack to wonder if he had made the right decision.


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: The character's of Donald Brock, his wife, Fred Dickinson, PC Nikki Wallace, Annie and Vera, and the staff of Canley High-Security Prison are all my own. The rest belong to 'The Bill' I've just borrowed them for this fic.

Author's Note: Apologises for the rather weak Hampshire accents of the farmers and estate agents in this chapter. I found it a difficult dialect to master. Hopefully should improve with later chapters. Also this will be the last update for a few days as I'm going to Majorca for three days starting from tonight.

Chapter 4

_Monday 4th September_

Mia Perry got into her car and turned the radio onto XFM London. Oh My God by the Kaiser Chiefs was playing and Mia couldn't help thinking of Mickey, for it was his favourite song.

_It's hard to believe you've been missing a week, Mickey; I miss you so much I hope that wherever you are you're safe and if Delaney's there with you I hope to God he isn't hurting you. _

The tears trickled down Mia's face at the thought of Delaney hurting he beloved Mickey.

_I need you to come home safely, Mickey. I love you._

When Mia arrived at Sun Hill she found that Jack, PC Nikki Wallace from Barton Street station and the two prison staff from the Canley High-Security Prison, Warden Truscott and PO Crowell, had already made a start on trying to find Mickey. They had set up some recording equipment this was linked to a telephone and a loud speaker this meant that when the phone was answered everyone in the room would hear what the person at the other end was saying and the recording equipment meant that the whole conversation would be recorded.

'Excuse me, gov, but what's with all the equipment?' Mia asked Jack.

'The telephone here is the one that will be answered if a member of the public calls with information on the whereabouts of Mickey,' replied Jack.

'Ah,' sighed Mia. _I hope this works and we find him. My heart aches for him so much._

Suddenly the phone rang. PC Nikki Wallace answered it.

'Hello this is PC Nikki Wallace,' the Barton Street officer's voice boomed out thanks to the loudspeaker, 'you have reached the missing person's helpline for Michael Webb if you have any information about Mr. Webb's disappearance then please leave it with me and it will be fully investigated. This conversation will be recorded.'

'Yah! You stop pigs oink, oink, oink. You lost one of yer own and you don't know where to find him!' called a male teenage voice, which was accompanied by a group of laughter; it sounded like there were at least four or five people in the background.

'Who is this?' demanded PC Wallace.

There was no response just more laughter from the group of teens.

It had to be said that DCI Jack Meadows was a very professional man who never let his emotions get the better of him; not even when he was up against some of Sun Hill's most notorious criminals and gang lords but now with his closet friend missing, possibly in danger and suffering at the hands of a man that took so much from him, and these disrespectful teens treating it all like some joke the last of his temper frayed. He snatched the phone's receiver from PC Wallace's hand and shouted down it:

'You stupid kids do you realise how important this investigation is? There is a man out there, who may be in danger. Alone and scared and possibly with a dangerous criminal who has had such a traumatic and emotional impact upon his life. Could you image what that would be like?'

There was silence at the other end of the line and, for awhile, Jack thought that maybe he had got to through to these kids when suddenly the teen who had called them shouted down the receiver as loud as he could at Jack:

'Fuck you, pig!'

Jack slammed the receiver down, grabbed his jacket and was just about to make for the door when PC Wallace called out:

'Excuse me, DCI Meadows, but where are you going to?'

'Out,' growled Jack. 'Mia if they are any further developments while I'm gone then tell DI Manson to give me a call on my mobile.'

Mia was too devastated that the call had been a prank to make a verbal response to Jack's command; all she could manage to do was nod her head meekly.

Donald Brock finished ploughing his cereal corn crop, a crop which is commonly grown on the plains surrounding Butser Hill, and was just about to turn back when he noticed there was smoke coming from the chimney of the abandoned farm house that lay on the other side of the far end of his field and was bordered by the down itself.

_Funny I didn't know there was anyone going to be moving into that ol' shack. Reckon you best take a look, Don me old man, as this is mighty suspicious all roight._

After turning off the engine of his old Ford tractor Donald climbed down from the cabin and proceeded to make his way across the field on foot.

As he reached the hedge that represented the border between the old abandoned farmhouse and his land Donald crouched down so that he was hidden from view but so that he could still see the farmhouse. It was clear the place was now inhabited; there was a light coming from the living room and a relatively new black Ford Focus was parked up in clearing next to the woodland at the foot of the down.

Suddenly the farmhouse door opened and a man with short, almost shaved, blonde hair and wearing a cream T-shirt and jeans stood in the doorway. He flung something across the grass, from where Donald was position it was hard to tell exactly what it was but he guessed it to be a cigarette end. The man then made his way back inside and slammed the door shut behind him.

Donald waited a few moments in case the man with the almost shaved hair returned. When it was clear that he would not Donald stood and made his way back to his tractor and made his way home. Later that evening he would go to the pub in Ramsdean and have a word with his friend who owned the neighbouring farm further up the field and see if he had heard anything about someone buying the place.

There was blood and seaman was everywhere: all over the sheets and trickling down his legs so, so much blood. Lying half-naked and face down on the bed he felt so dirty, so used. For the past five days Delaney had raped him, same time everyday. He did not know why and he was beginning not to care why. His mother had brought him up with religion; it had been church every Sunday when he had been a kid and he had kept to that religion throughout his life even when Kate and his mum had died, even after the first time Delaney raped him and even after Liz's betrayal but now he felt that God had left him and that Satan had come in his place for this must be Hell. It was then that Mickey Webb came to the conclusion that religion was all one big lie and that there was no God: just him and Delaney trapped together in this desolate place, miles from home, on a giant rock which was spinning in a vast, almost uninhabited galaxy. He cried himself to sleep.

When Jack had walked out of the interview room after the prank phone call by the group of teens had did not have any idea where he was going to. He just knew he had to get out of that room before his anger at their insensitive attitude consumed him and he lost it. It wasn't until he got out into the station yard that he realised where he had to go to. He quickly got into his car and drove out of the station.

After approximately fifteen to twenty minutes Jack pulled into a graveyard in one of London's more upmarket areas. When his mother had passed away Mickey had insisted upon the best for her even though, Jack remembered, it had cost him most of his life savings.

Jack made his way along the graves until he came upon the one he was looking for. It had possibly the most beautiful headstone in the entire graveyard; a marble stone effect carved into the shape of a heart. Upon the stone was written the words: RITA WEBB: BELOVED MOTHER. DEARLY MISSED.

'Hello Rita,' muttered Jack, 'if you're up there watching over all this-' he paused, feeling a little comfortable.

Unlike his friend, Mickey Webb, Jack Meadows was not nor had he ever been a religious man. He did not believe in God or live after death or Heaven or any of that. As a result he felt a little silly talking to a grave when he knew that the occupant could not hear him and could not respond. Nevertheless he knew his friend would not have wanted to think his mother was worrying about all of this even though she was dead so for Mickey's sake Jack ignored the protests of his rational mind and continued:

'-then you'll know Mickey is missing. I don't where he is or if anyone is holding him captive anywhere but I don't want you to worry, Rita, because I'm going to find him no matter what and I promise you this; I'm going to bring him home, safe!'

'Reckon there's some bugger living in th' ol' abandoned farmhouse. One at bottom of Butser Hill,' said Donald Brock.

'Don't be daft! That ol' woild place,' laughed Fred Dickinson. 'Why'd anyone want to live there?'

It was evening and Donald was sitting in the Ye Olde Inn pub in Ramsdean with his neighbouring farmer and friend, Fred Dickinson. As its name suggests the Ye Olde Inn was a traditional, rural, English pub. Old photographs and brasses lined the dry stone walls above the wooden tables and chairs and in the corner of the room a coal fire burned on into the night.

Donald sat back in his chair and took another sip of his ale and then lit up a cigarette.

'I'm bloody certain of it,' he said in reply to Fred's question. ''Appen I seen 'e.'

'When?' asked Fred, unsure whether to believe his friend or not.

'S'morning. I was out harvesting cereal corn when I sees loight on in th' ol' farmhouse at bottom of Butser and I says to myself: "Donald, me ol' man that just ain't roight. There's been no bugger in that ol' farmhouse for many a year." Reckoned I ought to take a look.'

'An' did you?'

'I did, Fred, an' that's when I saw 'e.'

'Who.'

'I don't know who 'e was. Outsider I reckon. 'E had short 'air. Blonde it was, Fred, and 'e was wearing one of them demin jackets wi' jeans and a cream T-shirt. Anyway 'e comes out of ol' farmhouse, like, and throws something onto th' grass. Musta been cigarette end, I reckon.'

'Nay. I don't believe you. Reckon your just 'aving me on 'ere.'

'Allroight if'n you don't believe me come by Hill View Farm tomorrow morning, broight an' early, and I'll show you.'

'Might just do that, Don. Anyway best be off otherwise th' woife'll be playing bloody 'ell with me.'

'See 'e then, Fred an' don't forget: broight and early tomorrow morn.'

Fred assured his friend that he would not forget and then took his leave while Donald struck up a conversation with the farmer at the next table about how good this year's crop had been.

_Tuesday 5th September_

Hill View Farm lies upon the flat, open land close to Buster Hill. The farmhouse could have been two hundred years old or it could have been older, with its beautiful, white-washed stoned building and its barns and byres made from wooden framework, made from the wood of the beach tree which is commonly found in the downland area, and its thatched roofs.

As promised Fred Dickinson arrived bright and early and to Hill View Farm and rapped upon the door.

It was Mrs. Brock who answered.

'If you're looking for Don, 'e's in th' byre feeding Sara's rabbits,' she told Fred.

Fred made his way to the byre.

'Morning,' he said

'I see you've come then.'

'Yes. I want to see this for myself.'

'Best get out there, then.'

With in twenty minutes Donald and Fred were crouched under the same bush that Donald had crouched under yesterday when he had first realised that there was someone living in the abandoned farmhouse.

Suddenly the door opened and the blonde-haired man that Donald had seen yesterday once more emerged from the house and few a supposed cigarette end in the grass.

'Seems you were roight,' said Fred.

Donald nodded a small nod of agreement.

'Funny though,' began Fred, reflectively, 'that neither of us 'as been told about any o' this, Don. You'd think what wi' us being nearest neighbours, like, estate agents would 'ave been round to let us know what was going on.'

'True that, Fred.'

'Yes, well, I've just had an idea, Don, I reckon you ought to give th' estate agents in Petersfield a call s'afternoon, see if they can shed any loight on the matter. Reckon they be knowing if'n someone bought the place, ol' boy.'

'Reckon I'll just do that, Fred, just to sees what they 'ave to say about th' matter.'

It had been a busy morning for employees of the Petersfield branch of South Downs Estate Agents. They seemed to have had one customer after another as if someone had erected a conveyor belt outside the shop and was sending people along it. In the old days it was likely that the employees would have had lengthy gaps between one customer and the next but the world was a smaller place these days and with travelling quick and easy to do in this day and age many people were from the city coming out to places like Petersfield, seeking a country retreat that was in easy commuting distance from London.

The two estate agents in that day were just on opening up the shop, after being closed for lunch, when the telephone rang.

'Get that, would you, Vera?' called out one of the estate agents, as she unbolted the door.

Vera had never really gotten over her dislike of the telephone, preferring the intimacy of dealing with customers face to face, but seeing that she had no alternative she picked up the receiver and said:

'Good Afternoon, South Downs Estate Agents. Vera speaking. How may I help you?

''Ave you 'ad the farmhouse at th' bottom of Butser 'Ill to up for sale an' sold it to someone?'

'Excuse me but my I ask who is speaking, please?'

'My name's Brock. I'm the farmer of 'Ill View Farm near Butser 'Ill an' I'm asking if'n you've 'ad the farmhouse at th' bottom of Butser Hill up for sale an' if'n you've had who've you sold it to?'

'Excuse me, but could you tell me a little more about the situation, Mr Brock, I mean 'ow come you come to be asking me this?'

'Yep. I will that. There's someone living in that ol' farmhouse even though it's been abandoned for many a year now an' I'm not the only local farmer 'as seen the man that's living in it. I'm just asking for a straight answer to a straight question – have you sold that ol' farmhouse to anyone?'

'I'm sorry, Mr. Brock, but I cannot give you an answer to that question of the cuff but if'n you'd care to told on for a few moments I'll ask my colleague an' see if'n she knows anything about it.'

Vera placed a hand over the phone's receiver and then called:

''Ere, Annie, do you anything about this.'

'What's that, Vera,' called back the other estate agent.

'There's a Mr. Brock, a farmer out Butser 'Ill way, on the phone. 'E wants to know if'n we've had the ol' abandoned farmhouse at the bottom of Butser 'Ill up for sale an' if'n we have who've we should it to. Do you know which I mean?'

'Yes I know the one,' replied Annie. 'No we've never 'ad that one up for sale. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to be buy it even if'n we did it's a roight shack.'

'Thanks, Annie.'

With that Vera removed her hand from the receiver and then spoke, once more, to Donald Brock:

'No we've never 'ad that one up for sale, sir, but there's another three estate agents in Petersfield maybe if'n you were to try one of them they'd be able to answer your query.'

'Yep. I will that,' replied Donald, hanging up.

The only sound was of rope being pulled against the metal framework of a bed as Mickey desperately tried to work himself lose. The effort did nothing but send tingling pricks up his arms. Dripping water from a leak in the ceiling above feel upon his naked body causing him to tremble uncontrollably. Whenever Delaney had finished raping Mickey he just left the young DC tied to the bed, face down and naked, he hadn't even bothered to try and find something to change the bed sheets with. Mickey closed his eyes and took a deep breath; the smell of old blood and seaman, which were stained on the bed, making him feel nauseous.

Suddenly the bedroom door was opened. There was stiffness in Mickey's neck as he tired to raise his head from the pillow to see who it was. He relieved the stiffness by letting his head fall back on the pillow like a dead weight and moaned allowed in pain.

'Ouch that sounded like it might've hurt.'

'Delaney?'

'Yeah it's me, pretty boy.'

The sound of Delaney's feet on the creaky floorboards began and Mickey tensed against his restraints at the thought of him coming near him again; touching him again.

'Day after day I want your body, Mickey, and I can't stop wanting it.'

Mickey felt rough demin brush against his buttocks before a cold hand squeezed it. He gasped and jerked forward, away from the hand; his heart began to pound in his chest and he flinched from the touch.

'What's the matter, Mickey, don't you like it when I touch you?'

A hand reached round to his nipple and squeezed it, causing the young DC to let out a soft moan.

'You like that, don't you, DC Webb.'

'Get away from me, you bastard!'

'I can't Mickey. You're too fucking beautiful for me to do that,' replied Delaney, eyeing up Mickey, lustfully.

'You know what time it is?' he asked as he began to undress himself.

'No, no, please, stop. Don't do this again, please.'

'God you look so fucking sexy when you beg. It makes me feel so fucking horny!'

Mickey closed his eyes as felt Delaney enter him once again.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Thursday 7th September _

'So none of th' estate agents in Petersfield know anything about 'ouse or that someone be livin' in 'it, then?'

It was evening and Donald Brock was, once more, sitting in the Ye Olde Inn in Ramsdean. He had just ordered his first pint and was sitting at the bar talking with Fred Dickinson and Harry Nutley, a farmer over by War Down (which lies on the opposite side of the A3 to Butser Hill), behind the bar, Gerry Long, the landlord of the Ye Olde Inn was also engrossed in the conversation. It was he who had just spoken.

'Nay,' replied Donald, 'none of them knew anything about th' 'ouse and I phoned all three, like.'

''F that's the case, Don, then it must mean that th' fella you been seeing is squattin' in there. That's a criminal offence that is. Reckon you ought to phone th' police in Winchester tomorrer,' put in Harry.

'I agree with you, 'Arry,' agreed Fred, 'ain't nothin' worse than squatters. Ol' Jack Eastleigh 'ad some of 'em, a few years back, in one of his barns, they ended out damaging 'alf his crops.'

_Saturday 9th September_

A small white police car pulled up at Hill View Farm at around lunch time and out stepped a police officer. He was a burley, middle-aged man and, like PC Tony Stamp, had been in the force many years but was still only a PC, preferring to be out patrolling the streets of Winchester and its surrounding area rather than being stuck behind a desk all of the time, which is what the felt promotion would bring.

He rapped loudly upon the door of Hill View Farm. This time it was Donald himself that answered.

'Mr. Brock?' enquired the policeman.

'Yeah.'

'Yesterday you phoned reporting some squatters in th' ol' farmhouse on the edge of your land, is that correct?'

'Yeah.'

'I'm PC John Blake. I've been sent to investigate th' matter, sir, and I was wondering if, perhaps you could show me th' actual farmhouse itself.'

Five minutes later both Donald Brock and the policeman were both crouched in the brushes at that bordered Donald's land and the old farmhouse. Mickey's black Ford Focus was clearly noticeable next to the green folage of the wood at the foot of Butser Hill and they could both clearly see Delaney making himself, or perhaps it was for Mickey, some sort of sandwich.

'Yep,' said the police officer, suddenly breaking the silence, 'there's definitely someone livin' in there.'

'I know that,' said Donald, 'what I wants t'know is what you lot is goin' to do about it?'

'Well I'm afraid there isn't much we can do, Mr. Brock.'

'How comes?' asked Donald, suspiciously.

'Well when 't comes to squatters the law is very complex, Mr. Brock, you must appreciate that, sir, an' 'cos of that I can't do anything about whoever is in there.'

'Why the bloody 'ell not?' roared Donald, enraged.

'Well, sir as I said th' law's complex when it comes to squatters. 'T states that'n a squatter is only breaking th' law if'n he is livin' in an already owned building without th' owners permission or if'n he be damaging property or th' like what isn't 'is. Now this 'ere farmhouse 'as been abandoned many a year so it 'asn't got an owner and th' fella in their, whoever he is, 'asn't done any damage to any of your property or equipment, Mr. Brock, so I'm afraid that I can't arrest him. I'm sorry to 'ave wasted your time, sir,' he added, in the hope it might soften the blow.

'So you should be,' replied Donald, rather annoyed by the outcome, 'there's some of us 'as to work for a livin', officer, I is now about 'alf an 'our behind and for nothin'.'

The police man could tell that Donald was angry and wishing to avoid any more of an angry farmer's wrath decided to take his leave.

DCI Jack Meadows was making his way along the corridor, having been making use of the toilet's facilities, as he did so he couldn't help thinking what had become of Mickey.

_It's been twelve days since he disappeared. Anything could have happened to him by now. He could even be dead or dying. _

Jack didn't want to think of the possibility that his colleague and friend could be lying dead or dying somewhere while he was stuck here wondering where he was.

Suddenly Jack heard someone calling out his name. He turned round to see Sergeant Smith running behind him it was he whom had called the DCI's name. Jack slowed down his pace, allowing the young sergeant to catch up with him.

'Are you alright, Smithy?' he asked the young, black-haired sergeant.

'Yeah, gov. I was just wondering if there was any word on Mickey, yet.'

The DCI shuck his head.

'Nuffin'?'

'I'm afraid not.'

'Well if there is will you let me know, gov, 'cause I'm worried about 'im,' admitted Smithy.

_Me too._

'You'll be one of the first to know if there are any developments, Smithy,' Jack promised him.

'Thanks, gov, anyway best get on.'

With that Smithy made his way along the corridor, leaving the DCI to ponder Mickey's fate once more.

_Monday 11th September_

'Brock sounded exceedingly angry,' said Mr. Clark, assistant editor of _The Downland News, _downing the last of his pint of beer, 'for that reason I couldn't get a lot of sense out of him.'

'Well wouldn't _you _be, old boy?' asked Mr. Hammond, who was the editor. 'There's someone living on the edge of his land and th' police won't do anything about it because they reckon that whoever the person his – he isn't breaking the law because the house 'as been abandoned for God knows how long. Hardly justice, is it, Samuel?'

'True, Marcus, but that doesn't mean he has to take it all out on me, does it?'

There was a moments silence, during which the only sound was that of the television, which was showing a memorial report for the 9/11 attacks.

'Are you going to do a piece on it, then?' asked Mr. Hammond, after awhile.

'Yes. I was thinkin' something along the lines of: "Mysterious man lurks in Meon Valley" or "Police fail to remove squatter from farm at Butser Hill" of course I'll send someone to interview both Mr. Brock and Winchester police.'

'I reckon young Kurt Wilson is the man for the job. He has the journalistic skill to get th' right responses from his interviews that will sell papers,' suggested Mr. Hammond.

'Yes I agree entirely, Marcus, first thing tomorrer I'll phone both Mr. Brock and Winchester police, see if'n they're up for an interview 'f so I'll send Wilson around on Wednesday.'

Earlier that afternoon and Delaney was once again undressing himself, preparing for his usual afternoon of sex with Mickey without the young DC's consent. Mickey was now demanding to know why; ney _needing _to know why Delaney was doing this to him everyday; day after day. The detective in Mickey would not let the matter in drop until he got an answer.

'Wait!' called out Mickey. 'Why do you keep doing this to me?'

''Cause it's what you deserve.'

'For putting you back inside?'

'Partly, but also because you're so fucking gorgeous, Mickey, that I _need _your body next to mine, I need to make love to you everyday, but, see, you winna' consent to it and that's why I have to take it by force every time.'

'I don't consent because I don't want it.'

'Well you should want it. You and me were made for each other, Mickey. You do know only a bad people resist the love and sex offered to them by the person they were meant to be with. God doesn't like bad people, Mickey, he punishes them. You don't want to be punished by God, do you Mickey.'

Mickey thought that this was the crazed thing he had ever heard but, knowing what a nutcase Delaney was, he decided it was probably best to play along for the time being. He shook his head in reply to Delaney's question.

'You want to be a good person, don't you Mickey?'

Still playing along Mickey nodded his head.

'Well to be a good person you have to let the person you are made for, in this case me, have sex with you whenever he wants. Now I say we stop this silly talk and ye let me make love to you before God thinks you're a bad person and decides to punish you.'

Mickey then felt Delaney slide on top of him, pressing his body against Mickey's back. In the next moment Delaney slid his hand over Mickey's chest, rubbing it and squeezing his nipple, Delaney had discovered that this action tended to turn Mickey on. Mickey let out a soft moan of sexual pleasure and couldn't stop himself from getting an erection.

And thus, on that tragic day when the world remembers the many people that lost their lives in New York, the psychological abuse of DC Mickey Webb had begun.

_Wednesday 13th September_

'So Mr. Brock would you please tell me how you came to discover that there was someone livin' in the ol' farmhouse opposite your land.'

It was mid-morning and Kurt Wilson was sitting in the lounge of Hill View Farm's delightful 16th Century farmhouse, sipping on Mrs. Brock's renowned herbal tea, interviewing Donald Brock.

'Yep, I will that. I was ploughing my land, gettin' up cereal corn crop, when I noticed that there was smoke coming from th' chimney and I reckoned that was suspicious as they 'asn't been anyone in that there farmhouse for many a year. Anyway I decides to go an investigate further and that's when I saw 'im.'

'The squatter?'

'Yep.'

'Could you describe him?'

''E was blonde-haired, short it was, almost shaved an' he was wearing a cream T-shirt and jeans wi' a demin jacket.'

'I see, so then what did you do, Mr. Brock.'

'Well I phoned all th' estate agents in Petersfield t'see 'f any of them 'ad had the farmhouse up for sale and 'f any of them 'ad sold it t'anyone but none of 'em 'ad.'

'So it was then that you realised the guy in there must be a squatter?'

'Yep, well more or less, 'cos it was more 'Arry Nutley, farmer over by War Down, as thought it was a squatter.'

'Well anyway that's not very important. Once you realised it was a squatter you phoned the police in Winchester but they weren't particularly helpful, right?'

'Yeah that's true. Th' officer came out an' asked me to show 'im the farmhouse, which I did, but 'e said that th' police couldn't do anything seen as th' house was abandoned an' that whoever th' fella was 'e 'adn't done any damage to my property.'

'And how did it make you feel, Mr. Brock, when the police officer turned round and said the police couldn't legally do anything because squatting in an abandoned house isn't against the law.'

'Too be 'onest with you, Mr. Wilson, I was rather annoyed by it all. I mean th' police are meant t'be 'ere to 'elp the public but it feels like I've been left to deal with this situation myself.'

PO Jim Crowell and Warden Malcolm Truscott were once more driving other to Sun Hill Police Station when suddenly Crowell spoke up:

'Sir.'

'Yes?'

'I was just thinking, sir, do you think is it worth you and I continuing to help the officers at Sun Hill find their missing colleague I mean the poor guy has been missing for fifteen days now. It could be he's not even in London anymore I mean he could be anywhere. Shouldn't we be concentrating ourselves on finding Delaney?'

'And what if Delaney has him?'

'Then it's more than likely that he has done something to do the poor guy. After all we both know how dangerous, violent and unpredictable Delaney is and how he seems to have a pathological desire to hurt those that wronged him.'

'I completely understand what you are saying, PO Crowell, but you seem to be forgetting that it was our prison that Delaney escaped from. That means that if we were to drop out of this now we leave ourselves open to all sorts of accusations. The media would have a field day when they heard of: "Prison staff unwilling to take responsibility for letting dangerous rapist escape."'

'But, sir, say Delaney does have this DC Webb held hostage somewhere. What if he has killed the guy or something?'

'Then it becomes a murder case for MIT to solve. It is out of the hands of DCI Meadows and his team then, who no doubt will be want to left alone to grieve for their colleague anyway, Delaney is re-captured and we have done our bit to help and we also walk away unscathed as no will be able to tarnish the reputation of Canley High-Security by claiming reacted irresponsibly.'

_The selfish twat! He doesn't care about where DC Webb or where Delaney is or even what reputation this might give Canley High-Security Prison or even that I may well lose my job because I was the one who left an inexperienced junior officer to monitor a dangerous criminal who then escaped. All Truscott cares about is himself and making sure that his own reputation and job are safe._ _Well I want to be apart of this no more! Maybe its time I should take that job in the country, the one Elsie and I talked about, it'd be good for little Chloe._


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_Thursday 14th September_

**LOCAL FARMER OUTRAGED**

**BY LACK OF POLICE SUPPORT**

Farmer Donald Brock was shocked and outraged when Winchester Police told him they were unable to remove a squatter from land which borders his.

Mr. Brock, from Hill View Farm close to Butser Hill, first noticed there was a squatter living in a farmhouse at the foot of Butser Hill, which borders his land, on the 4th September but did not call the police until four days later.

However upon seeing the farmhouse for their selves Winchester Police told Mr. Brock there was nothing they could do. The reason being that squatting is only illegal if property has been damaged or the house is being lived in without the owners consent and since no one has lived in this particular farmhouse for many years and no damage has been done to either Mr. Brock's property or land the squatter is not breaking the law.

**Annoyed**

When interviewed yesterday Mr. Brock was said to be: "Rather annoyed by it all." Commenting that he feels he's been left to deal with the situation himself since the police won't help him.

**Description**

Mr. Brock described the squatter as being a middle-aged white male with cropped blonde hair. He was wearing a blue demin jacket and jeans with a cream t-shirt.

**Nothing we could have done**

When question about the incident Winchester Police replied that there was nothing they could have legally done. Which begs the question, dear reader, where is the justice in all of this? And if the police are going to take something like this lightly then it does not bare thinking about what their reaction to a more serious crime would be?

Kurt Wilson

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Well if that doesn't get th' local farmers on Mr. Brock's side then I don't know what will,' muttered Kurt to himself.

Kurt Wilson was a young journalist, only twenty-nine years of age, who had been born and raised in the Winchester area. He had been named after Kurt Russell who had been his mother's favourite actor.

When he was no more than a year old his mother had caught his father cheating on her but with another man, rather than another woman as one may have assumed, disgusted she had packed his bags one, stormy, November night and thrown him out into the cold. The poor woman never found anyone else and was, therefore, left to raise Kurt entirely on her own.

Throughout his early secondary school life Kurt was a trouble-maker and a truant, prone to moments of teenage rebellion, mainly refusing to attend school, which some blamed on a lack of father figure in his life while others clamed it was simply a normal product of his age, when he had bothered to attend classes many of his teachers wished he had not as he was disruptive and a complete nuisance. Despite all of this Kurt was not a stupid boy in fact he was quite the opposite it's just the way Kurt saw life at that time was this: no adult was going to tell him what to do. Indeed his poor mother had long given up trying and the school was so big that the headmaster did not recognise him by sight or character, no more than he did with sixty percent of the pupils in his school.

Kurt might have continued on his downward spiral and left school with no grades to waste his life away on the dole if, when he was fourteen, the newly-appointed English teacher at his school had not recognised his talent for persuasive writing. With her encouragement he joined the school newspaper and within a fortnight has been well and truly bitten by the journalism bug. Not only had he begun to find his calling in life but he also began to realise that perhaps school did have some purpose other than being a place that your mother enforced you to go to so that she could get a bit of peace from your teenage behaviour and attitude, as was his previous belief. Throughout his GCSE years Kurt studied hard and in the end he left school with six GCSEs including an A (the highest grade possible) for English. Kurt stayed at school for the extra two years of sixth form and did his A-levels.

After his A-levels Kurt studied Journalism at what was then known as King Albert's College but is now known as Winchester University. Where his obvious skill and enthusiasm for journalism shone through yet, despite this, for the first few years after leaving university Kurt found it difficult to find work in his chosen career. To make ends meet he ended out doing one shitty job after another from checkout operator in a hardware store to cleaner for the local cinema.

At last Kurt, at the age of twenty-four, was given his big break when a former university friend informed him that local paper _The Downland News _were seeking a young, fresh-faced journalist to join their team. Upon hearing this piece of information Kurt sent his CV to Mr. Hammond, editor of _The Downland News_, and was given an interview within a week,

I shan't bore you, dear reader, with the details of Kurt's interview but shall say that he left quite a positive impression on both Marcus Hammond and his assistant editor, Samuel Clark. Within a month he was working for both men.

Within the next four years he progressed from the new-boy to a popular journalist capable of grabbing and retaining the reader's attention and it was this ability that earned him admiration and respect from both Mr. Hammond and Mr. Clark and that admiration and respect meant he was entrusted with more and more news stories. Kurt's ear was well and truly close to the ground and he soon developed a web of reliable contacts and sources of information. Had a child been murdered by a psychopath on Salt Hill? The poor child's mother was unable to evade Kurt's barrage of questions. Was there a fatal accident on the M3? A school head teacher accused of interfering with a twelve year old girl in Winchester? A knifing, a shooting, a rape, the brutal beating of an elderly man in Stroud? In short Kurt was the lad to make sure the good, farming, public of the Hampshire section of the South Downs did not miss a moment of it.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'Please!' cried out Mickey, as Delaney thrust into him once more, 'Please stop!'

His lip began to quiver.

'What's the matter, Mickey-boy?' mocked Delaney.

'I want to go home!'

'You _are_ home, Mickey-boy. This is your home.'

'No, no my 'ome is Sun Hill not 'ere! My colleagues are going to find me.'

'Your colleagues are glad you've gone, Mickey. They didn't want you around. Nobody wanted you. You're an insignificant thing!'

Mickey felt the tears roll down his cheeks.

'Aww… is the poor baby crying again? God you disgust me, crying like a wee bairn, try being a man for once!' mocked Delaney.

Then raising his fist he brought it smack down on Mickey's arm, relishing the cry of pain the young DC made as he was hit.

'Now say it with me: "Nobody wanted me. I am an insignificant person!"' he continued.

Mechanically, and with no emotion in his voice Mickey repeated those lines: 'Nobody wanted me. I am an insignificant person.'

'Good, good, now what about these next ones: "I am a bad person because I will not let Mr. Delaney have sex with me when he wishes!"'

Again with the mechanical voice and the lack of emotion Mickey repeated the lines: 'I am a bad person because I will not let Mr. Delaney have sex with me when he wishes.'

'I hate having to do these things to you, Mickey; but I do them because I care about you and because I care about you I know you have to learn what is right and what is wrong and that have to teach you. You understand that, don't you?

Mickey made no reply.

Suddenly he felt his head being jerked back. When he had made no response Delaney had grabbed him by his golden hair and pulled his head back.

'I SAID YOU UNDERSTAND THAT, DON'T YOU!'

'Yes…I…I…understand,' replied Mickey, fearfully.

'You understand what?' asked Delaney, pulling tighter on Mickey's hair.

'Mr. Delaney, sir,' Mickey answered back, as quickly as possible, terrified of what Delaney would do to him next if he didn't.

'That's better,' said Delaney, satisfied.

He let go of Mickey's hair and the DC's head dropped to the pillow, heavily, like a stone sinking to the bottom of a stream.

_Friday 15th September_

Donald Brock, having been revelling in his five minutes of fame after just reading yesterday's addition of _The Downsland News_ to everyone present in the Ye Olde Inn, sat in his chair awaiting Fred Dickinson's return with the beer.

'Fancy that then,' Fred said to him when he returned. 'Getting yoursel' int' th' paper.'

'Yeah well so long as th' community knows just what our police force's views on squatters are.'

'Yeah well they'll be crapping 'emselves now, Don, mate.'

'You reckon.'

'Yep. That Wilson lad sounded like 'e was a real 'andy fella. Sound like 'e 'ad th' local farmer's best interests 'as 'is top priorty. Like 'e wanted t'get answers from Winchester police as much as we did.'

'Too roight. After all 'e is a local lad not one of them faceless London types what comes in worite their bit then piss off back to th' big city again when th' story gets old an' a fresh new one comes up somewhere else, leaving us no further forward, Freddy, 'e's in it for th' long haul, this lad is, 'til th' matter is resolved.'

_Saturday 16th September_

It was early morning, sometime around six a.m. and Delaney, who had a tendency to get up early, was searching through the cupboards of the old farmhouse, desperately looking, for something that he could use to cook for his and Mickey's breakfast but the cupboards were bare. This was no good he needed to eat. As for Mickey he could torture, abuse and rape the DC but no matter what he couldn't let him starve; starving Mickey did not come into plans for the reason that, if left long enough, starvation would led to death and if Mickey was dead it would mean he would be free from the suffering Delaney was causing him and Delaney _wanted _him to suffer just as he himself had done in prison. No there was nothing for it he would have to go and get some food, he would have to walk, of course, he could not risk the local police catching and arresting him in a stolen vehicle if he took Mickey's car but if he set off on foot now he could go and come back before Mickey awoke and realised he was gone.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Petersfield is a Hampshire market town, situated on the northern border of the stretch of chalk hills known as the South Downs. The town was founded at the end of the 11th Century, growing up as a coach stop on the Portsmouth to London route, and even today is still situated on both the main rail and road link between the two cities. The late George Best, the great Manchester United and Northern Ireland player of the 1960s and 1970s, lived in Petersfield at one point.

In The Square, opposite the statue of King William III (William of Orange), who defeated the then deposed King James II at the Battle of the Boyne. This particular statue is the only one of King William III to be found in the United Kingdom outside of Northern Ireland. Opposite the statue lies a small shop and it is a general store, selling everything from sweets to DVDs. It is owned by two un-wed, middle-aged twin sisters, Mary and Jennifer Dodson.

The shop was closed this early in the morning but a little thing like that did not concern Delaney, who had no intention of paying for his supplies in any case.

Mary and Jennifer were trusting people or perhaps a little too naïve to today's society, whichever way you want to look at it, and had left the key in the inside door of the lock. Seeing this, and not believing his good fortune, Delaney picked up a stone the threw it through the shop window the glass flying in every direction as the stone shattered it, leaving a hole which was large enough for Delaney to squeeze his hand and arm through. He turned the key in the lock, pulled the handle down, and the door eased open, gently. Delaney entered the shop and after glancing round for a few moments to get his bearings he began pocketing things in a large rucksack which he had brought with him; unaware he was being watched from the doorway in the corner which led up to where Mary and Jennifer lived above the shop.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Mary Dodson awoke with a start, looking at her watch she saw that it was only seven a.m. Something had awoken her – a noise – something unusual. But what? Someone banging on the door, demanding them to open up? That would be unusual as she and Jennifer were always up and open promptly so as not to that their loyal customers down, this was becoming more and more important what with more people going to shop in the big supermarkets, such as the Waitrose around the corner in Park Road, which were open twenty-four hours a day. But it could not be someone demanding to be let it as the shop did not open until nine: another two hours away. But it might be someone trying to break into the shop realised Mary. Best to go and have a look see.

Mary got out of bed, slipped on her pink dressing gown and slippers, and – carefully and quietly – crept down the stairs, which led down to the shop floor. When she got to the bottom of the stairs she opened the door (which was behind the shop counter) a fraction; just enough to see over the counter and onto the shop floor. It was from here that Mary could roughly see the outline of an adult male with blonde, cropped hair who, every so often, kept putting his hands into a rucksack which lay beside him. It didn't take Mary long to realise that whoever the man was he was stealing their stock.

Mary made a way back up the stairs, as quietly yet quickly as she possibly could, and into Jennifer's room.

'Jenny! Jenny! Are you awake?'

'Yes I am.'

'Jenny there's a man downstairs, in th' shop, I mean. 'E's got this big ol' rucksack with 'im an' e's putting stuff from th' shop in it!' Mary said, suddenly.

'What? Show me.'

Mary once more made her way down the stairs, her two minute younger sister following behind her. Both women peered through the crack in the door. The blonde, cropped haired man was still in the shop and still helping himself to their stock. Suddenly the man turned round so that both women could get a good, clear, look at him.

'Oh, Mary, look!' said Jennifer, clutching at her sister's arm. 'Blonde, cropped hair white male, wearing demin jacket, cream T-shirt and jeans. That's 'im!'

'Who?'

'Don' you remember th' report in Thursday's _Downland News_; th' one about th' squatter that's livin' in th' ol' abandoned farmhouse at th' bottom of Butser Hill?'

'Yes. By your roight, Jenny, that _is _him!'

'D'you reckon we ought t'call th' police, Mary?'

'Yes we'd better. I'll go an' give 'em a call now.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Two hours later and as he drove down through Petersfield's Market Square on his way to work Kurt realised he had not had anything to eat yet. As he passed Mary and Jennifer's shop he noticed the police car parked up outside. _What's going on there, then_. Even though he knew it was none of this business the journalist in him was curious as to what was going on in the shop. _I best check this out it might be important and interesting. Plus I may be able to get something to eat while I'm here. _He pulled into the next available space and walked back along to the shop.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Kurt had stood by the counter with a packet of crisps and a bottle of Dr. Pepper, in Mary and Jennifer Dodson's shop. He had been standing there for at least the last fifteen minutes. He was starting to get bored and impatient and began tapping his fingers upon the counter. He _needed _to get on his way to work soon. Sighing he called out:

'Hello is anyone actually serving here!'

At that moment Jennifer popped her head round from the door behind the counter. Seeing Kurt standing there she immediately came out from behind the door with an apologetic look upon herself.

'Oh I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, sir,' said Jennifer, apologetically, 'I didn't realise there was anyone waiting otherwise I'd have been straight out.'

'That's quite alroight,' replied Kurt. 'Anyway who'd want to rush in a town like this? With it's Old English charm. Real peaceful here, I bet.'

'Well, sir, there's certainly plenty that see it that way,' replied Jennifer, 'but actually we've 'ad a bit of a commotion s'morning.'

'Really what sort of a commotion?' asked Kurt, trying to keep the lack of surprise out of his voice. 'Can I have Stake and Kidney pie as well, please.'

Jennifer bent down and plucked out a Stake and Kidney pie from the glass-fronted shelves below the counter.

'That'll be £2.60 in total, please.'

Kurt handed her a £5.00 note.

'I was about to tell you about the commotion we 'ad s'morning, wasn't I?' asked Jennifer as she handed Kurt his £2.40 in change.

'Yes. I believe you were.'

'Well early s'morning, around seven, we 'ad someone break int' th' shop anyway we comes downstairs and sees a man with a rucksack pocketin' our stock. 'E'd mashed the window an' put 'is 'and through and opened th' door and was pocktin' our stock, like I said, anyway we gets a good look at 'im and I realises it's th' squatter that was mentioned in th' local paper, th' one squattin' in th' ol' abandoned farmhouse at th' foot of Butser Hill. 'E was exactly as th' journalist 'ad said Mr. Brock 'ad described him: blonde, cropped hair, middle-aged, white male an' wearing jeans, demin jacket and cream T-shirt.'

Inwardly Kurt could not help feeling pleased that someone had read and taken notice of his article outwardly he gave none of this away: rule number 1 of being a journalist: don't brag about it. Keeping quite can get you into places bragging never would.

'Did you call th' police?' asked Kurt, politely.

'Oh yes. There's an officer come over from Winchester upstairs now taking a statement from my sister. That's why I wasn't 'ere straight away when you comes in before.'

'What's 'appened to the squatter?' asked Kurt.

'Unfortunately 'e got away. Th' officer tired t'stop 'im but 'e was t'quick.'

_Thank goodness for that. The last thing I need is for this story to die out this early._

'Oh that is _rotten_ luck,' he replied. 'So the poor police officer 'as come all this way from Winchester for nothing.'

At that moment both Mary and the police officer entered the room from the stairs.

'An' 'f either of you 'appen t'see 'im again,' the police officer was saying, ''f you see 'im round th' place at all, anytime of day or noight, don't 'esitate t'telephone us.'

'Thank you, officer,' Mary replied, 'although I must say I rather hope _he _doesn't come back, though.'

'I've been hearing something of this situation of yours to do with a man who broke in,' Kurt said, politely, to Mary, 'I only hope he didn't take to much stuff.'

'Well thankfully he didn't take too much stuff but he's completely smashed th' front door window and made a terrible mess what with th' glass scattering everywhere but th' police officer, 'ere, 'e's done a wonderful job of cleaning it all up for us,' replied Mary.

'And I suppose you'll be keen to catch a hold of the culprit, won't you?' pursued Kurt, turning to the police officer.

'Well, sir,' began the officer, 'Winchester Police take breaking an' entering an' stealing as a very serious matter, you know.'

'Yes but I would be fair to say that you lot aren't popular among the local farmers at the moment what with the fact that you lot failed to arrest and remove a squatter from next to Mr. Brock's land, at least that's what I read in the paper, and now this Miss Dobson here (he pointed to Jennifer) is sure that their burglar this morning is the same man.'

The police officer swallowed, nervously, he did not like this interrogation. Who the hell was his young man, anyway? To come wondering in here and asking him all these questions he should just bloody well mind his own business. 'Well I can't say yet whether our not th' man that broke in 'ere was th' same that 'as been squatting next t' Mr. Brock's land,' replied the police officer, recalling, as he spoke, his Superintendent's policy of silence when faced with tricky situations and questions like this.

'I still need t'get a good, clear sighting of th' man that robbed th' Miss Dobson's 'ere s'morning. It might be th' same man as 'e that is squatting in th' ol' farmhouse next to Mr. Brock's land but then again it might not.'

'Did you not get a good look at 'im when you chased 'im down th' street?' asked Mary, 'I'm telling you he fitted the description of th' man described in th' paper on Thursday to a tee; blonde, cropped hair, middle-aged, white male wearing demin jacket, cream T-shirt and jeans,' she continued, echoing Jennifer's description of the man earlier to Kurt.

'There you are officer; both of the Miss. Dobson's have now given me the exact same description of the man which, if I recall from Thursday's _Downland News_ matches the description that Mr. Brock gave.'

'Be that as it may but I _still _didn't get a good look at the man myself, I just saw th' back of 'im as a I chased 'im up th' street an' the point I'm trying to make 'ere, sir,' replied the officer, looking directly at Kurt, 'is that 'e could 'ave been anyone. I mean 'ow many men are white an' have cropped hair and wear jeans, t-shirt and demin jacket.'

Everyone looked at him as if expecting him to say more.

'We need to get 'old of s'morning's burglar an' question 'im down th' station an' then we can find out 'f 'e an' Mr. Brock's squatter are indeed one an' th' same.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

As soon as he had heard the sound of the police siren Delaney decided to make his getaway quick. He dashed out of the door and up the street. Halfway up the street he noticed that a male police officer was chasing him. A small smirk crept on Delaney's face. When it came to out running and escaping the law Martin Delaney was the expert! Putting on an extra spurt of speed he ducked down into the archway in the High Street, which was a pedestrian walkway that led up to Rams Walk and the Waitrose Supermarket, and waited until the police officer had gone past him, seen that he had disappeared, assumed that he had lost him, and return back down the street, before coming out of his hiding place and making his way up the bank.

When he was sure that all was clear Delaney came out of his hiding place and continued right, along the High Street until he came to a fork in the road at the bottom. He continued on, straight a head and through Heath Road, following the road as it curved down to Heath Pond.

All the time Delaney had thought he had remained unseen, but he was mistaken. Conley Jennings (his mother had originally come from Ireland hence why he had been given the name Conley), the most skilful angler in the whole of the South Downs, was fishing upon Heath Pond, which is a favoured place by the local fisherman. He had been out since eight-thirty and, as yet, had failed to catch anything; not even a little nine-inched stickleback (which is Britain's smallest fish). Becoming bored and rather frustrated at his lack of success Conley found his eyes leaving the pond and veering off to west. Following the road down from Heath Road West, past the children's play area, he saw that twisted man, Martin Delaney, making his way up the road. A minute later Conley hooked a three-quarter pound trout and thought no more of the man he had seen; but it was to recur to him later.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Contrary to Delaney's notion Mickey was, in fact, well awake before he had returned from his expedition to Petersfield.

Mickey's half-naked body shivered. How long had he been here? He did not know anymore. The days and nights all seemed to role into one. He no longer had any concept of time apart from getting food meant it was breakfast, dinner, lunch or supper time and that Delaney coming in and removing his own clothes meant that it was mid-afternoon and that he, Delaney that is, was wanting his daily sex in between waiting for either one of the aforementioned events to occur Mickey was left alone with only his own mind, which was slowly cracking and breaking from the psychological and sexual abuse imposed upon him by Delaney, for company.

As he lay shivering on the bed Delaney's words from the previous night came back to him:

_Nobody wanted you. You are an insignificant person!_ And _"I am a bad person because I will not let Mr. Delaney have sex with me when he wishes!"_

_It's true. It's all true. Nobody does want me otherwise they'd have found me by now, Mia, Jack: none of them care! I don't why they don't care but I do know one fing I'm not going to be a bad person anymore. I'm gonna be a good person, now, an' let Mr. Delaney 'ave sex with me because he cares about me an' I know that 'cause 'e told me so 'imself yesterday. 'E wouldn't lie to me like Jack, Mia an' everyone else at Sun 'Ill would._


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: All Sun Hill characters belong to The Bill the rest are my own.

Author's Notes: Words in _Italics _are character's thoughts.

Chapter 7

_Sunday 17th September_

Donald Brock and Fred Dickinson lent against the boundary wall of Fred's farmhouse. (The farm itself was called Lythe Farm). Neither had spoken in the ten minutes they had been there, just lent nonchalantly on the wall, smoking a Lambert and Butler each.

'Did you not 'ear about th' to-do th' Dobson twins in Petersfield 'ad yesterday? asked Fred, suddenly.

'Nay. I was over in Salisbury all yesterday, seein' that fella as selling sheepdog pups. Didn't get back 'til late.'

'Well apparently, so 'Arry Nutley was saying, they 'ad Winchester police out early yesterday morning.'

'They never!'

'Yep they did, that – some fella 'ad broken int' their shop, smashed the glass an' just stuck 'is 'and through 'ole in th' glass and opened door, whoever 'e was 'e sounded like 'e were 'e knew what 'e was doing, Don, anyway 'e breaks in an' starts 'elping 'imself to th' stuff on shelve. An' 'ere's the interesting part, Don me ol' mate, th' Dobson twins reckon their early-mornin' robber was none other than th' man you seen squattin' in that there ol' farmhouse at th' bottom Butser 'Ill but police officer from Winchester reckoned 'e didn't get a good enough look at th' robber to say whether 'e was th' same man as your squatter, Don.'

'Yeah well 'e won't, would 'e, Fred? Bloody 'opeless Winchester police are. Too much pen pushing an' legislations going on and not enough real policing an' criminal catchin' that's what th' problem is with police these days, Fred.'

At that moment Skye (at that present moment in time Donald's only border collie bitch), who had been lying quietly at his side, sensing that her master was angry and upset by some human affair that she could even begin to comprehend sat up and nuzzled Donald's hand with her muzzle. Donald gently pattered her head with his hand in response to her affection.

'An' all tell you another thing, Fred, 'f that there young newspaper lad, Wilson, comes back round 'ere at any point I'm going t'tell 'im exactly what I think of Winchester police an' their slipshod attitude t'th' whole matter. 'Cause I'll tell you this, Fred, 'f man that robbed th' Dobson twins yesterday morning ends out being th' same as 'e who is squatting in ol' farmhouse at foot of Butser then Winchester police cannot ignore th' matter. Won't do their reputation any good if'n they do. An' I doubt their superintendent will like that.'

'No more 'e will, Don, 'e was a superintendent in Met in London before 'e came 'ere, wasn't 'e?'

'Yep. That 'e was, Fred.'

'Well you know 'em Met boys, Don, they like to make sure their stations got a good rep an' it's likely 'e brought that way of thinking with 'im when 'e came out 'ere.'

'I don't doubt that for a minute, Fred, not for a minute.'

Both men became silent, the only sound being that of their lungs as they inhaled and exhaled more of the smoke from their cigarettes.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Kurt Wilson was sitting at his desk in _The Downland News'_ office, tapping out his report from yesterday's events with the Dobson twins.

The office itself was an ugly, dreary, brick and concrete building and ever since its construction in the late 1960s had stuck out like a shore thumb against Winchester's many historic buildings. Inside the building was just as dreary. The walls had simply been plastered and given a coat of white paint, which had been on so long that it was being to go a dirty white colour and in some places was peeling all together. There was decoration in the room; just filing cabinets and row upon row of computer desks and chairs, where the journalists typed up on their news stories.

It was late evening and outside the September sun was already setting low over the ancient buildings and streets. Kurt was feeling a little annoyed. He had been so busy with other stories yesterday (being only a small, local, paper _The Downland News _did not have a huge amount of staff and, therefore, many of the journalists found themselves working on more than one story at the time) that he had missed getting the incident with Delaney robbing the Dobson's shop in today's paper and had, therefore, had had to work all evening to ensure that it was ready for tomorrow's paper. If he left it any longer than that then it would be old news. As a result he was, about from the editorial staff who often worked late, the only person in the building.

'Petersfield shopkeeper's Mary and Jennifer Dobson got a shock on Saturday,' Kurt tapped upon Microsoft Word on his laptop computer.'The reason being? They discovered their quaint, little shop being broken into by the mysterious squatter who has been residing in the abandoned farmhouse at the foot of Butser Hill in the Meon Valley, his presence causing local farmers concern but, so far, not for the local police force from Winchester.

Unfortunately for the local farmers the thought that the Miss. Dobson's robber was indeed the same man and, therefore, must be arrested was doomed to failure when PC Graham Adams, hastening the forty two miles from Winchester Police Station, arrived in time to give chase to the robber but, unfortunately was unable to catch and identify the man.

Which surely begs the questions: Who is this unknown man? Where has he come from? Is he any danger to the public?

_Well that should be the guts for the article if either Mr. Hammond or Mr. Clark want it to be longer well they can flesh it out on the editorial desk this evening before it goes out tomorrow._

_Monday 18th September_

Winchester Police Station, which is also the headquarters of Hampshire Constabulary, is located in a tall post-war office building in West Hill, which is in Winchester City Centre, on the site of the first headquarters which were build in 1847. In its towering position the building can be seen on the skyline from most approaches to the city.

In his office Superintendent Stephen Higgins was pacing floor desperately wondering what to do about the bad image his force and officer were receiving from the local press. Like Fred Dickinson had told Donald Brock Superintendent Higgins had indeed come from the Met; from a station in the West End of London. He was, therefore, just as concerned in ensuring Winchester Police had a good reputation as Fred and Donald has thought he would be.

After ten minutes pacing the floor Superintendent Higgins it upon the idea of what was to be done. Sitting down at his desk he switched on the computer, which lay upon his desk, and logged into his profile. Once in he opened up Microsoft Excel and the spreadsheet which contained all the staff rotas. Checking the rotas for the PCs Superintendent Higgins was relieved to find that both the PCs that he wished to speak to were both in this morning. He switched off the computer and made his way down to the Inspector's office.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'Please gentlemen, take a seat.'

PC John Blake (the officer who had investigated Donald's claim of a squatter) and PC Graham Adams (the officer who had investigated the Dobson twin's robbery) were both standing, looking slightly ill-at-ease, in Superintendent Stephen Higgins' office. As soon as Superintendent Higgins told them to take a seat they both plummeted like lead into the two chairs in front of the desk.

After searching through the rotas and discovering the two officers were in work that morning Superintendent Higgins had spoken with his Inspector and requested if he could borrow the two officers for half an hour or so to have a word with them. The Inspector, knowing how much importance her Super placed upon reputation, obliged.

Superintendent Higgins took up his own seat behind the desk, facing the two lower rank officers. For a good five minutes no one spoke. Higgins stared at the PCs intently and they stared back at him just as intently. The tension in the air could have been cut through with a knife. Finally Superintendent Higgins held up a copy of a newspaper and spoke:

'Do you know what this, gentlemen?'

'A newspaper, sir,' replied PC Adams.

'This, gentlemen, is a copy of this morning's _The Downland News_,' yelled Superintendent Higgins, who was, already, starting to get annoyed with the two officers, 'and do you know what it says?'

'No, sir,' replied both PCs in unison.

'Then I shall read it to you: "Petersfield shopkeeper's Mary and Jennifer Dobson got a shock on Saturday the reason being? They discovered their quaint, little shop being broken into by the mysterious squatter who has been residing in the abandoned farmhouse at the foot of Butser Hill in the Meon Valley, his presence causing local farmers concern but, so far, not for the local police force from Winchester.

Unfortunately for the local farmers the thought that the Miss. Dobson's robber was indeed the same man and, therefore, must be arrested was doomed to failure when PC Graham Adams, hastening the forty two miles from Winchester Police Station, arrived in time to give chase to the robber but, unfortunately was unable to catch and identify the man." And then there is the one from the 14th which basically has us written as a force indifferent to our public's concerns. Do you have anything to say about this, either of you?'

'Well, sir, th' squatter hasn't done any damage to Mr. Brock's property and th' 'ouse 'as been abandoned for so many years that it doesn't 'ave a current so whoever this guy is 'e ain't broken th' law,' reasoned PC Blake.

'An', sir, it's true what it said in th' paper,' piped up PC Adams, 'I didn't get a good enough look at th' robber in th' Dobson's shop t'tell 'f 'e was th' same man as th' man that's squattin' in th' ol' farmhouse at th' foot of Butser.'

'I take what you have both said into account but as the superintendent of this station I have to think of the station's reputation that is why I want you to work together on this case so that we are seen to be taken the concerns of the local, farming, community seriously, understand?'

'Yes, sir,' both officers replied, once again in unison.'

'Good. Right you're dismissed.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Delaney was pleased that Mickey was now showing no signs of resisting him when he was having sex with him it meant this plan to destroy Mickey's mental strength and courage was working and he could no perceive that the young DC's mind was becoming more fragile by the day and that the cracks were beginning to show. Just to make sure Delaney decided to twist the metaphorical knife a little bit more.

'How are you feeling, Mickey?' he suddenly asked.

'Bad,' Mickey instantly replied.

'Bad? What! Are these living conditions not good enough for you, Mickey? Do you want more, you wretched male whore!'

Delaney raised his fist as if to hit Mickey.

'I mean good!' replied Mickey, quickly, shivering and frightened.

'Good? Oh you feel good? Are you trying to mock me, DC Webb? I can change that for you!'

With that Delaney brought his fist down on Mickey's right arm. Mickey immediately cried out at the pain.

'You're pathetic! Crying over a little tap like that! Big baby!'

'I don't understand,' Mickey spoke up suddenly, 'I'm letting you 'ave sex wiv me like you wanted to but still you 'urt me. Why?'

Delaney laughed.

'I'm not hurting you, Mickey. Haven't you ever heard of people having fetishes during sex; such as hitting each other? That's all this is, Mickey, just a wee fetish. Don't you like it?'

'No.'

'Wrong answer!' yelled Delaney. This time he cuffed poor Mickey across the face.

'I mean yes! Please don't 'it me no more!'

'I told you I'm no' hitting you. It's just a fetish and it's really turning me on!'

With that he began running his hands along Mickey's back, over his shoulder's and trickled them through the DC's golden hair. Then he lay on top of Mickey so that his face was only a few millimetres from Mickey's then he kissed Mickey, passionately.

'Umm… you taste good,' Delaney said, his voice dripping with lust. 'Make love to me, pretty-boy.'

Then he had sex with Mickey.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

At the time that this was happening to poor Mickey over in the office of _The Downland News_ Kurt had just been summed into Mr. Samuel Clark's, the assistant editor, office.

'Good afternoon, Kurt,' said Mr. Clark.

'May I ask what this is about, Mr. Clark?' asked Kurt, anxious to get to the point as every minute he spent in Mr. Clark's office was another minute less to get out on his reporting.

'I've been speaking to Mr. Hammond this morning,' replied Mr. Clark, sensing Kurt's eagerness to get on with his work, 'and he is happy with what you have reported so far on this squatter story-'

_An' if 'e's happy then you are too._

'-you've interviewed both the farmer involved and Winchester police and given a description of the squatter and really made people believe he is the same man that robbed the Dobson's over the weekend but Mr. Hammond thinks that if you could get a photograph of said squatter then the newspaper reading public of the South Downs could get a good look at what this fellow looks like and it will 'elp move the story along.'

'That's all very well, Mr Clark, but how am I going to get a photograph of the man I mean apart form robbing the Dobson's shop the guy has been pretty reclusive.'

'Oh I'm sure a smart, young lad like you will think of something,' replied Mr. Clark, brushing aside Kurt's concerns. 'Off you go. No time like the present to start.'

'Yes, Mr. Clark.'

Kurt left the office and shut the door behind him.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

It was early evening and Kurt, who was still wondering and indeed had been doing so all afternoon how the bloody hell he was going to get a photograph of the squatter, was sitting in The George, a pub in Petersfield's market square.

Suddenly another man comes up to him and asks:

'You're that journalist. Th' one that reported on th' robbery of th' shop belongin' to th' Dobson twins?'

'Yes I am,' said Kurt, turning to see a grey-haired man, who was wearing a tweed suit over a green jumper and a flat cap, sitting on the bar stool next to him. The grey-haired man was smoking a pipe.

'I'm Conley Jennings,' replied the grey-haired man, 'an' I'm fairly certain I saw your robber makin' 'is way along 'Eath Road West at th' bottom of town later that Saturday morning.'

'And you're sure it's the same man?' Kurt asked.

'Yep. 'E was just as Dobson girls an' Donald Brock 'as described him – cropped, blonde 'air, middle-aged white male wearin' a demin jacket, cream t-shirt and jeans.'

'Well it certainly sounds like him. May ask what you were doing and how you came to spot him?'

'I was fishin' on Heath Pond. I wasn't catchin' anyfing an' took my eyes of th' pond for a small moment an' then I so 'im; coming down from th' west.'

'Thank you very much, Mr. Jennings.'

'Your welcome I just wish I'd 'ad my camera on me 'cause 'f I 'ad I'd 'ave taken a photograph of th' man so you could 'ave found out 'f 'e was th' same man as your squatter.'

A thought occurred to Kurt.

'Mr. Jennings how would you like to rectify that.'

''Ow do you mean?'

'Listen my boss wants me to get a photograph of the squatter but I don't know the area around Butser Hill very well I was wondering if you'll help me. I'll pay you good money, of course.'

_We need th' money. I don't get anything from fishin' an' the pension just doesn't cut it not with all th' bills we 'ave to pay an' Nora will 'ave some money to go out shopping with even if 'alf th' stuff she buys she don't need._

'I'll do it. When do you want me to do?'

'As soon as possible.'

'May as well go out tomorrer then.'

'Thank you very much, Mr. Jennings you shan't regret it.'

With that they both shuck hands.

_Tuesday 19th September_

Conley had a wife; a Mrs. Nora Jennings, they had been married some forty years and when the children had been young they had spent most of their time together but now the children had grown and flown the nest and, as with many elderly couples who have spent twenty years raising children and not much time with each other and now found themselves with no one but this other person for company with nothing to say to each other, they spent most of their time alone indulging in their own hobbies: Mr. Jennings with his fishing and Mrs. Jennings with her tapestry.

Thus by now they had developed a ritual where by and Mrs. Jennings would get up early and make a packed lunch of sandwiches, sausage rolls and pork-pies for Mr. Jennings who would then set off for a long day fishing either on Heath Pond or on the banks of the river Rother with the promise that he would return home in time for the evening meal. The only time they spent together was the occasional Saturday when Mrs. Jennings would have a mind to spend the Saturday shopping in Winchester, Southampton or even Salisbury and as Mrs. Jennings could not drive herself Mr. Jennings would have no option but to drive her to either one of the afore mentioned destinations. He would then follow her around, disgruntled, as she spent more and more of their hard-up cash on things he believed her to already possess or not require.

Nevertheless when Conley Jennings returned home on the Monday night he immediately told Mrs. Jennings of the offer Kurt had made him and, rather than be thrilled by the thought of getting some money to buy more unneeded things with as he had expected, Mrs. Jennings' reaction was one of intense horror. How could he even dare to think about doing such a thing when no one knew how dangerous the squatter was? 'If he could break into and rob a shop what else was he capable of?' she had reasoned but her words had fallen upon deaf ears for Conley's mind was made up and he was not to be persuaded otherwise.

On the Tuesday morning Conley had got up early; not long after sunrise and checked that his camera was in working order and contained a film when he had checked it he put it into his rucksack along with his flask, compass and map. Then he put on warm and breathable clothes, his hiking boots and his anorak and swung a pair of binoculars on a string around his neck.

Although Mrs. Jennings was still unhappy with him going out and photographing the squatter she said nothing more to dissuade him and so he set off for Butser Hill.

Conley drove out of Petersfield and down the A3 until he had reached the turn off for Weston, having already decided to leave his Land Rover at Weston and walk from there over the downs to Butser Hill. He parked his Land Rover in the car park of The Five Bells pub, deciding to have a pint in the pub itself upon his return.

By the time he reached Butser Hill and climbed the 247 metre summit the sun had completely rose and it got warmer and clearer and Conley began to sweat in his anorak, as he came out into the open and sung his binoculars this way and that over Ramsdean Down. There was no one in sight and, after pausing to take in the superb viewpoint (as it was a clear day Conley could see the spire of Salisbury Cathedral which lies some forty miles from Butser Hill), Conley began to descend Butser Hill, past the radio transmitter, and down to the farmhouse where Delaney was keeping Mickey.

Coming out of the small stretch of woodland which lay next to the farmhouse Conley stop dead, with that familiar heave in his belly that he often felt when fishing and a big trout raises to the fly, the farmhouse door been opened and a man come out of the house. He had cropped blonde hair, was white and was wearing a demin jacket and cream t-shirt and jeans.

_That's him! That's the squatter! Now if only I can get closer I may be able to get a photograph of him!_

Suddenly Conley spotted Mickey's black Ford Focus parked a little way off.

_Perfect! I'll be able to get a good, clear photograph from there with th' zoom on camera and still remain hidden._

Squatting down Conley silently and slowly made his way to the side of Mickey's car.

When he reached the car he quietly opened the rucksack he had been carrying and removed his camera and turned it on, using the zoom to get a clear picture. He steadied his hands, which were now shaking with excitement, and:

_Click Flash Click Flash Click Flash_.

Conley got three photographs and, satisfied, made his way back to the woodlands. However he had failed to notice the large roots of a gnarled beach tree sticking out on the each of the wood. Conley's foot got caught and twisted in the root and he went down with a resounding crash, starling a red-legged partridge from its nest on the ground, a well concealed grassy cup: its distinctive voice; _chuck, chuck-arr _being heard as it rose to the sky. Conley's camera, which he had not yet returned to the rucksack, rolled off into the woods.

Suddenly Conley heard a man's voice call:

'Who's there?'

_Shit! Th' squatter must 'eard me fall an' disturbed th' partridge._

'I said who's there?'

The voice sounded nearer this time.

In the next moment Conley felt himself being dragged to his feet and a sharp point, like a knife, being pressed against his back. He instantly spun round and found that the object being pressed against his back _was_ a knife and holding it was the squatter himself.

'What are ye doing here?' the squatter asked, there was a soft Scottish lilt to his voice which Conley had not detected until now.

Conley was no coward. He was fearless and knew how to stand his ground and, indeed, he had won many a fight in his lifetime.

'I could ask you th' same question,' he retorted.

'Such terrible manners,' said Delaney, sounding a little hurt.

'I beg your pardon,' snapped Conley, unaware that the other man was nothing short of a complete psychopath, ''Ow dare you! You're th' one that's been squattin' an' upsettin' th' local farmers an' robbin' two good, decent, girls in Petersfield. That shop means th' world t'them. This is a nice, friendly, peaceful, neighbourhood an' we don't need your sort 'ere.'

'I don't like being spied upon. It makes me angry and when I'm angry I do bad things like this!'

Suddenly Delaney thrust the knife into Conley's stomach. Instantly Conley clutched his stomach. Within a matter of minutes his hands were covered with blood.

'You bastard!'

Those were to be the last words he would ever say. In the next moment he began coughing up blood, and then his eyes blacked over and he fell down dead. Delaney smiled, evilly, to himself.

'I told you Ah tended to do bad things when angry,' he whispered to Conley's, prone, lifeless body.

Then he made his way back to the farmhouse.


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: All characters belong to The Bill expect the members of _The Downland News_, Winchester Police, Canley High-Security Prison and Mr. and Mrs. Jennings which are entirely my own creations.

Chapter 8

_Wednesday 20th September_

**MYSTERIOUS SQUATTER**

**MURDERS LOCAL FISHERMAN**

A mysterious squatter who - for sometime now - has been living in an abandoned farmhouse at the foot of Butser Hill and is also believed to be the same man that was involved with the robbery upon the Miss. Dobson's shop in Petersfield at the weekend has now committed a much bigger crime.

Yesterday, in the late afternoon, the body of Conley Jennings, 65, a fisherman from Petersfield was found on the edge of a small stretch of woodland at the foot of Butser Hill with serve chest wounds.

**Farmer Discovers Body**

Mr. Brock a local farmer from the Butser Hill area, who was out combing woodlands with his dogs, looking any sheep or cows that may have strayed from his fields, came across the wounded body of Mr. Jennings.

'I was in the woodlands just looking for stray sheep or cows when suddenly I hear one of the dogs barking. Thinking it must have found a stray sheep or cow I rush forward and when I get to the dog I see it's nuzzling at something dark, lying close to the big beech tree on the edge of the wood. Once I realised what it was I went closer and that's when I saw the wounds. There was a big stab wound through the chest and whoever the person was he was dead. I then made my way home quickly and called the police.'

**Photographing**

Superintendent Stephen Higgins, of Winchester Police, who is in charge of the police told a_ Downland News _reporter: "The discovery of a slightly damaged camera a short distance from the where the body was discovered and the body's proximity to the house where the squatter is residing suggests that the dead man had left home that morning with the intention of photographing the squatter.

**Honest, Caring and Determined**

Mrs. Nora Jennings, 64, interviewed yesterday evening by _The Downland News_ said of her husband: "He was an honest, caring and determined man. He told me he was going out to photograph the squatter living at Butser Hill and although I tried to dissuade him his mind was made up. This terrible tragedy has deeply upset me. I shall miss him terribly. I only hope the police catch that evil man that did this!'

(For a photograph of the squatter turn to page 2)

Kurt Russell

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Mrs. Jennings had agreed to let Kurt publish the photographs, which had managed to survive, in the hope that it may help prevent anyone meeting a similar fate as her husband although Kurt had not but any pressure on her to do so for he was well aware that although Conley had told his wife that he had been offered to photograph the squatter he had not told _who _had offered him to do the photographing and Kurt knew that if Mrs. Jennings realised it was him she'd expose his rather unorthodox methods and that would be the end of his career in journalism so he left her to make the decision to allow the photographs to be published herself.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

A copy of _The Downland News _sat upon Superintendent Higgins' desk. He had been reading to see if any more incriminating remarks had been made about his station. There had been none. Curiosity had made him turn to page 2. He was surprised by what he saw.

_No! That cannot be him! He's meant to be looked up in Canley High-Security prison in London after what he's done. Especially to that poor, male, officer from Sun Hill! And if it really his him we have to catch him as quickly as possible for he is too dangerous to allow to roam freely around the place. I'd best get the DCI in here._

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Just as Superintendent Higgins had been, Ted Nicholson, the DCI was surprised by what he saw on the second page of _The Downland News _when shown the page by his DCI.

'Martin Delaney? Are you sure, sir? I mean no disrespect but surely it cannot be him,' said DCI Nicholson at length.

'That's what I thought but I can't think of any one else it could be,' replied Superintendent Higgins.

_Oh Hell!_

'If it is him, sir, and its beginning to sound like it, we need to catch him as quickly as possible. I mean he raped a Met officer a few years ago, I remember it being all over the national papers at the time, if he can do that then there is no telling what he is willing to do to the general public.'

There was a moment's pause, during which the DCI seemed to be considering something. 'That fisherman from Petersfield,' he said at length, 'Delaney would have no fear about doing something like that. I think you're right, sir, it _has _to be him! What do you think we should do?'

'Well catch him of course! But first we should call a briefing, for both CID and uniform, let them know just how much of a dangerous man we are dealing with,' replied Higgins.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

As mentioned earlier in the story Kurt Wilson's ear was well and truly close to the ground and, other the years, he had developed a web of reliable contacts and sources of information. One of the reliable contacts and sources of information was an officer in the Winchester police force itself.

At the age of 24 Christen Thompson was one of the youngest officer's in the Winchester force. He had joined the force at the age of 21, an eager and ambitious young man, who had become fed-up with the boredom and lack of job satisfaction the dead-end jobs gave him. Unfortunately for Christen most of the other males in the force were, middle-aged, experienced officers who did not take well to having a young probationer amongst them who seemed full of himself and as result Christen found himself being outcast. This did not sit with him at all as Christen was a very sociable young man.

One night while sitting in the Royal Oak in Winchester, which is the oldest pub in England, he had met Kurt, who was beginning to establish himself as a journalist, fed-up of the way he was being treated Christen found himself pouring his heart out to this stranger who did not seem to be that much older than himself. The stranger seemed to empathise with him telling him that although he had been qualified as a journalist for some time now he was only just getting himself established. This gave Christen the courage to stick with his job. Over time a friendship struck up between the two young men and soon Kurt trusted Christen enough to use him as an informant.

Therefore as he sat in the briefing Christen was listening, intently, for any interesting information that he may be able to pass onto Kurt.

'Right,' began the DCI, silencing the chatter. 'No doubt you are all wondering why we have called his briefing. Well the simple matter is that the Super and I have seen the photographs in this morning's _The Downland News _and we believe that the squatter over at Butser Hill is none other than Martin Delaney.'

They were looks of surprise and horror amongst the longer servicing staff while the probationers looked at each other with puzzled expressions on their faces. What was so shocking about this Martin Delaney?

'Now for those of you that don't know,' continued DCI Nicholson, 'Martin Delaney is a very dangerous criminal from London. Three years ago he raped a male police officer and since then he has been kept locked up in Canley High-Security where he was serving both the rape charge and, more recently, a murder charge. Now for some reason he has escaped and come to Hampshire.'

'Why has he come here,' piped up Christen.

'We do not know, PC Thompson,' said Superintendent Higgins, 'but we know we have to catch him before he does anything else. The man is dangerous and unpredictable and not afraid to harm the police as well as the public that is why I want as CID team down to that farmhouse at the foot as Butser Hill and monitor Delaney's actions as soon as possible. Right dismissed! And remember be careful as there's no telling what Delaney will do!'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The telephone rang. Quickly Kurt picked it up.

'Hello,' he said down the receiver.

'Hello. Is that Kurt Wilson of _The Downland News_?'

'Yes it is. May I ask who is calling, please?'

'It's me: Christen. I have some new information about your mysterious squatter that I think you'll be interested in. Meet me tonight in The Royal Oak at around seven-thirty an' I'll tell you more.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'Hello, Pretty-boy,' said Delaney.

My name is Mickey not pretty-boy,' replied Mickey.

Delaney punched Mickey across the ribs with his fist. There was a terrible cracking sound and Mickey cried out in pain.

'Ow! You've broken my rib!'

'Yeah well you shouldn't have back answered me! From now on the name Mickey Webb is dead! You'll respond on to the name "Pretty-boy" otherwise I'll break even more of your ribs, understand?'

Mickey meekly nodded his head.

Now, Pretty-boy, make love to me.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

As it was a Wednesday it was quiet in the Royal Oak in Winchester it was reasonably quiet and, therefore, Kurt Wilson and Christen Thompson had managed to get a seat in the corner of the room away from the prying eyes and ears of the locals.

'So,' Kurt was saying as they both sipped their beer under to old and rather beautiful oak beams, 'this Martin Delaney, who is a dangerous criminal and has raped a male Met officer has escaped from a High-Security Prison in London and, for some reason, 'as come down here and has been squatting out in the old, abandoned farmhouse at the foot of Butser Hill?'

'Yes. That's it exactly.'

'Ho-ho! What a turn up for th' books this is!' exclaimed Kurt, rubbing his hands together with glee. 'Thank you so much, Christen, of course I will write out a cheque for the usual amount and have it sent you as soon as possible.'

_Thursday 21st September_

'Need information on background of one Martin Delaney also which High-Security Prison in London he had escaped from and when he escaped. Story prospects excellent should put a real spin on things. Kurt'

'Oh happy days!' exclaimed Mr. Clark, perhaps a little too over enthusiastically, as he read out the e-mail Kurt had sent him. 'Marcus, my good man, this could well prove to be our big break through.'

'There's a _lot _that could go wrong with it,' replied Mr. Hammond, shaking his head. 'A _lot_.'

'Like what, ol' sport?'

'Oh I don't know. I guess I'm just being cynical. Hopefully my cynicism will prove to be falsely applied, Samuel.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'And how's my Pretty-boy this afternoon?' asked Delaney.

Mickey made no reply. He could not think what the right thing to say was. He did not want to get another beating but he knew if he did not say something he would get another beating anyway. Swallowing back his fear he spoke up, hoping that what he was about to say was the right thing to say:

'I am average: neither good nor bad.'

He looked at Delaney with wide, expectant eyes and a hopeful expression of his face; much the same way that a child may look to its parents when they hope they have done something right.

'Good boy, Pretty-boy.'

Mickey smiled, pleased that he had made Mr. Delaney happy, however, the smile was wiped very much from Mickey's face when in the next moment, Delaney said:

'By you is a dirty boy! Lying there, covered in blood and semen, can't you clean yourself up, you disgusting little shit! You want me to have sex with you know, don't you?'

Mickey's now fragile and shattered mind did not understand. He thought he was being a good boy now: doing what Mr. Delaney had told him to do but here Mr. Delaney was calling him dirty and disgusting. He must be doing something wrong but what? He just didn't know. He shivered with fear, expecting to be hit but nothing happened. Mickey spent the rest of the day wondering why.

_Friday 22nd September_

**DANGEROUS**

**RAPIST**

**AT LARGE IN**

**MEON VALLEY**

Late Wednesday evening a reporter for _The Downland News _learnt that the mysterious squatter who has been causing concern for local farmers and is believed to have robbed a shop in Petersfield and, more recently, murdered Conley Jennings, a fisherman from Petersfield, is in fact a dangerous criminal from London known as Martin Delaney.

**Psychopath and a Rapist**

Mr. Delaney is a said to be a dangerous psychopath. He is a very unpredictable man with a need to take revenge of those he feels have wronged him. This desire led him to kill a fellow prison inmate and rape a male Met officer while he was in London.

**Escaped from Prison**

It is believed that Delaney escaped from Canley High-Security Prison in late August 2006 and, for some unknown reason, has been squatting in the Meon Valley area of the South Downs since then.

**Time for Action**

In light of this new information this reporter says that it is time for Winchester Police to take action before this man makes more victims out of the people of the Meon Valley: before _your _husband, while out walking on Butser Hill, is murdered by him or _your _child, while collecting conkers from the wood surrounding the farmhouse where Mr. Delaney is residing, is enticed in, with promises of sweets, and his raped by him. The sense of danger is all around in the Meon Valley.

Kurt Wilson

DCI Jack Meadows read and re-read the article; desperately looking for anything in it that might tell him if Delaney was keeping Mickey captive but there was nothing. The only thing it mentioned about Mickey was the fact that Delaney had raped him three years ago, which everyone knew of anyway due to the media publicity the case he received at the time. Jack recalled it had been a hard time for Mickey as all the poor young man had wanted to do was to try and move on with his life; put Delaney and the rape behind him but the press kept hounding poor Mickey asking him questions. They all wanted to know about the Met officer who had been raped. Jack remembered fighting off a lot of pressmen while trying to get Mickey out of the courts and home everyday.

_Oh Mickey I hope I can find you before it's too late. Realistically though Mickey's been missing three weeks now, Jack, It's probably likely you're looking for a body now._

Even though he knew it was true he was still very much alarmed by the thought that Delaney could have murdered his best friend.

_Still at least we know where Delaney is now. I need to get myself down to Hampshire: today._

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

From: 22 September 2006 13:47:52

To: Interview

Dear Mr. Wilson,

I am the warden of Canley High-Security Prison. I have read your article on Martin Delaney in today's issue (dated Friday 22nd September) of _The Downland News_ and would like to request an interview with you on the afternoon of Tuesday 26th September so that you may here our side of the story rather than brand accusations around.

I would be grateful if you could reply to this email, letting us know if you wish to meet with us, by the afternoon of Sunday 24th September.

Yours truly,

Malcolm Winston Truscott (Warden of Canley High-Security Prison)


	10. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: All characters belong to The Bill expect the members of _The Downland News_, Winchester Police, Canley High-Security Prison.

Author's Notes: Words in _Italics _are character's thoughts.

Chapter 9

_Saturday 23rd September_

As soon as he had read the article DCI Jack Meadows had called Winchester Police and spoke to DCI Ted Nicholson; explaining who he was and his involvement with the case and that he would be setting off for Winchester as soon as he finished work and whoa and bide DCI Nicholson if he tied to stop him.

Promptly, at 5:15 pm Jack left Sun Hill Police Station and set of for Winchester, making a quick stop at home to collect a few clothes, deodorant and his toothbrush.

The approximate time to travel the sixty-nine miles from London to Winchester is one hour and forty-two minutes but, of course, this does not allow for traffic and, seen as it was rush hour, Jack got stuck in plenty of it as he tired to get out of the city and onto the M3.

Trying not to get frustrated by the lack of progress he was making Jack turned on the radio. Capital FM came on, playing Out of Time by Chris Farlowe (a singer from the 1960s).

_I only hope that isn't true for poor Mickey. If Delaney has you, Mickey, hold on: I'm coming._

Unbeknown to Jack as he was driving out of London Kurt was driving in to London. As soon as he had received Truscott's email he had decided to head up to London early to see if he could find anymore information about this Canley High-Security Prison before his interview with them on Tuesday. He had, of course, cleared it with Mr. Clark and Mr. Hammond first.

Both Jack and Kurt past each other at Chertsey, on the outskirts of London, both unaware of the other's existence or that they were both on a fact-finding mission about the same man.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Mickey was so broken by the sexual, physical and psychological abuse he had been subjected that his mind was psychologically deteriorating. He seemed to be regressing into some sort of childhood: almost treating Delaney like a father. He had become Delaney's slave: willing to do whatever the crazed bastard wished him to do. He had even stopped responding to his own name; instead responding only to "pretty-boy," Delaney's pet name for him.

'You remember what time it is, don't you, Pretty-boy?'

'Yes Mr. Delaney.'

'Good boy!'

'And you remember that you are not a person. You are an insignificant thing who has been put on this Earth for my enjoyment and pleasure.'

'Yes, Mr. Delaney, I remember that.'

'Good, Pretty-boy. Good. See when you are a good boy you don't get hit, do you?'

'No, Mr. Delaney,' replied Mickey. 'Now we do sex now?' he asked in a very, child-like manner: naïve and full of innocence.

'Yes now we do sex, Pretty-boy,' replied Delaney in a sweet yet utterly twisted way

As Delaney had sex with Mickey he laughed; quietly and evilly to himself. He had at last crushed DC Mickey Webb's spirit and destroyed his mind. He had achieved his revenge for he knew that it would take one hell of a psychologist to fix the damage he had done to Mickey's mental health.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Imagine, dear reader, you are standing near Bridgets Farm from here you can see the M3 as it dips down in to Winchester. Looking northwards you see a car coming through Itchen Wood; a navy blue one – a Vauxhall Vectra, I think, and, who I hear you cry is driving the Vectra? Take your binoculars to him. Ah yes just as I thought; it's none other than DCI Jack Meadows of Sun Hill Police Station; himself. There he goes under the first of two bridges, past Shroner Hill Farm and under the second of the two bridges, and down past the railway line and under another bridge, past Easton Down and in to Winchester itself.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'DCI Jack Meadows? I'm Superintendent Stephen Higgins and this is DCI Ted Nicholson.'

Jack shuck hands with both men.

'I'd be grateful if you could fill me in,' he said.

DCI Ted Nicholson filled Jack in with everything that had occurred during the last three weeks since Delaney's arrival including the possibility that it was he that robbed the Dobson twins' shop in Petersfield and his murdering of Conley Jennings; the fisherman from Petersfield.

'Well I have to say that I wouldn't but it past Delaney to do those things,' admitted Jack. 'When my team and I investigated him three years ago we saw his crimes escalate from basic fraud and stealing to an assault and a violent stabbing to, eventually, the rape of one of my male officers,' both DCI Nicholson and Superintendent Higgins noticed a look of regret in Jack's eyes as he said this last line. 'That is why I am here. I believe Delaney may have kidnapped the very officer he raped three years ago. See the officer has been missing for the last three weeks and he disappeared about the time Delaney escaped from prison.'

'So you've come down here to see if Delaney has this officer of yours?' asked DCI Nicholson.

'Yes.'

'We shall help you find your missing officer, DCI Meadows,' said Superintendent Higgins.

'Thank you.'

'What I want to know is how the media - our local paper in particular - got hold of information on Martin Delaney?' continued Higgins.

'You don't think we've got an informant, you know someone feeding information to this _Downland News _lot, amongst our ranks, sir?' asked DCI Nicholson.

'I'm unsure as yet, Ted,' replied the Super, 'but I'll tell you this if we have I _shall_ discover you he or she is and have them out of here faster than they'll know what's hit them.'

_Monday 25th September _

'Mr. Johnson I can see that you're an honest you man, therefore, I will be perfectly straightforward with you. As you may or may not know the man you escaped from the prison where you are employed has been terrorising the locals of the Hampshire stretch of the South Downs. I work for a local paper in that area and I have come to London seeking information on how exactly this particular prisoner managed to escape. I shall pay for it of course. It's not a question of bargaining – there's the money,' said Kurt handing Craig Johnson a big brown envelope. 'Count it. I shan't say you told me anything in fact I shan't even mention your name. Tell me everything you know about Martin Delaney and that money goes into your pocket and I've forgotten all about it.'

With a little help from the locals and a lot of help from Mr. Hammond and Mr. Clark, back in Hampshire, Kurt had eventually managed to track down young Craig "Geordie" Johnson, the junior prison officer whose inexperience and incompetence had allowed Delaney to escape from Canley High-Security almost a month earlier.

Kurt listened intently to Craig's account of how Delaney had escaped from Canley High-Security Prison while sipping beer in the Queen's Head; one of Canley's many pubs.

'With these checks what do you have to check for?'

'Jist to see if the prisoners trying tae escape an' if they're on suicide watch then youse to check that they aren't aboot tae kill themselves, like.'

'You sure you didn't have any idea that Delaney was digging a hole?' asked Kurt.

'Aye. As good as sure.'

'Correct me if I'm wrong; but you are just a junior officer, are you not?'

'Ah am.'

'Again correct me if I'm wrong; but shouldn't you have had some sort of supervision while checking Delaney's cell?'

'Aye that Ah should.'

'So you're saying your superiors left you to check the cell of a highly dangerous criminal unsupervised, knowing you were only a junior officer.'

'Aye an' Ah'll tell ya another thing that you might or might not knaa, Mr Wilson.'

'What's that?' asked Kurt, becoming more and more intrigued with what this Newcastle-Upon-Tyne born and bred young lad had to say.

'Last month. That wasn't the first time Martin Delaney had escaped from prison.'

Kurt sat bolt upright. Craig had been right: that had been something that he did not know. This was just getting better and better. He was going to pull the warden of Canley High-Security Prison apart when he interviewed himself tomorrow. At length he replied:

'No?'

'Naa. He escaped aboot eight/nine months agan. Went to move the body of someone he'd murdered three years ago noo.'

'So how come he ended back up inside?'

'Well, an' Ah din' knaa if you knaa this, like, but he raped a male police officer, Sun Hill he was from Ah think, three years agan.'

'Yes I had heard that.'

'Well anywa' this officer, as soon as he heard Delaney had escaped again, he decided to help recapture him. Naturally he didn't want his rapist to be wondering a roond free. Anywa' it was he that worked oot that Delaney had escaped to move the body of this poorer lad he'd murdered a few years before an' got him thrown back in prison with a murder charge.'

'So before he escaped this time he was servicing a murder charge as well as the rape charge from three years ago.'

'Aye. An' Ah'll tell you summit else. This police officer that got raped by Delaney he's been missin' for the last month almost, like, an' he disappeared at the same time as Delaney escaped.'

'Do you believe the two things maybe linked?'

'Ah'm not sure but the must be summit in it 'cause both Warden Truscott an' Mr. Crowell have been helping Sun Hill pollis try an' find the missing officer.'

'Do you know the missing officer's name?'

'Aye. His is name is Michael Webb.'

'And do you know what rank of police officer he is?'

'Detective Constable.'

'Well thank you very much for your time, Mr Johnson, you have been extremely helpful,' said Kurt, shaking Craig's hand.

With that he departed.

_Tuesday 26th September_

Punctually at five minutes to two; two o' clock being the time arranged in his return email to Truscott, Kurt Wilson arrived at Canley High-Security Prison. It was a warm, pleasant day and the sounds of the urban jungle that is London could be heard. Traffic, the sound of a siren from either a police car, an ambulance or a fire engine and the sound of road works being carried out somewhere in the vicinity.

Kurt smiled to himself this was where he wanted to be in five years time: working in the big, capital, city for one of the acclaimed national papers; having his articles read by every man and woman up and down the country; from John O' Groats to Land's End.

He stubbed out the cigarette he had been smoking, rang the door bell and, a few short moments later, found himself sitting in a stuffy little office with Warden Malcolm Winston Truscott and Senior Prison Officer Jim Crowell and a rather grimy cup of coffee.

'I'm very pleased,' began Warden Truscott, greeting Kurt with appropriately courteous sophistication, 'that you have come all this way to see us this afternoon. I trust your journey up from Winchester was a fine one and that you are enjoying your stay in our wonderful city. Now do tell Mr. Crowell, here, and I how we can assist you and we shall gladly oblige.'

It took more than this sort of smarmy niceness to put Kurt off. Indeed he was too much of a professional at his job to be put out by this sort of thing.

'Well I'd like to ask you a little more about this prisoner who escaped,' began Kurt.

'Now which prisoner may that be? We do have rather a lot of them here, you know, Mr. Wilson, that I cannot possibly remember them all straight off the top of my head,' replied Warden Truscott, giving Kurt a warm smile.

'Come on now, Mr – er- Truscott, I cannot help but feel that is lacking a shade in honesty,' replied Kurt, smiling back. (Indeed both men were now smiling way like a set of hyenas). 'If you have no qualms with me saying so, you know blooming well which prisoner.'

'Well, yes, I _think _I do,' replied Warden Truscott, 'but, as I said a moment ago, we have a lot of prisoners here. This is the largest prison in the borough, you know, and it is hard to remember them all. What I am trying to get at is how you identify him or her: your provenance, if one may use that term. May I, once again, act like the proverbial idiot boy and ask you "which prisoner?"

'The prisoner that escaped from 'ere, sir, and 'as been causing all the bother for the local people of Hampshire.'

'Ah,' replied Truscott, triumphantly, 'now we don't get to hear about things that occur down there up here London much, you know, so I will ask you, sir, what bother and in _which _locality of Hampshire are we talking about.'

_Shit! I fell right into that one, didn't I?_

'Very well, Mr. Truscott, if that is the way you wish to play it. Let's start from the beginning, shall we? You are not denying that, almost a month ago now, one of your prisoners escaped and made 'is way to Hampshire.'

'We're certainly not denying that one of our prisoners escaped. What happened to him and where he went to after that I'm afraid I cannot tell you. He could have gone anywhere especially if he managed to steal a car.'

'Mr. Truscott this man has been identified by a number of people in the Butser Hill and Petersfield area of Hampshire and, of course, there is the crimes he 'as caused in the afore mentioned area which include, squatting, robbing a local shop and, let's not forget, murdering a fisherman from Petersfield, who was only taking photographs of the local area when he was attacked and stabbed by your escaped prisoner.'

'Yes,' said Mr. Truscott, 'having managed to, a few days ago, obtain and read, copies of your articles for the Hampshire paper _The Downland News _I thought you might be about to say something like that. _Did _he? With regards to the death of Mr. Jennings; yes his body was found with serve chest wounds but there is no evidence to say that he was murdered or that it was our escaped prisoner that did it. I mean no murder weapon was found.'

_Dam it 'e's got me there; the twat._

'Both Mr. Brock, a farmer from the Butser Hill area and the Dobson twins, whose shop was robbed, identified the same man as their squatter and robber, respectively, and when photographs of the man squatting in the farmhouse next Mr. Brock's land were developed the man in them obviously matched Mr. Brock's description but he also matched the description the Dobson twins' gave of their robber.'

'Certainly. But robbing a shop is not the same as being accused of murdering a man.'

'No true. Anyway let's change the topic, slightly, shall we?' said Kurt, aware that he was losing the argument here. 'This is the second time that this particular prisoner has managed to escape from your prison. Would you like to explain why that is, Mr. Truscott?'

'No, I – er – I don't _think_ I – er – _would_,' he said reflectively, with a contemplating frown.

'Oh come now, Mr. Truscott, you cannot evade my questions that easily. I know that this time around this particular prisoner escaped because an inexperienced, junior, member of staff was left to inspect the prisoner and his cell - make sure he was ok and not about to kill himself or escape - and through incompetence and neglect of his superiors was left to do this unsupervised.'

'Where and by what unauthorised means did you obtain this information?' demanded Mr. Crowell, speaking up at for the first time and well aware that it was his head on the block now.

Kurt may have got his information by somewhat unorthodox means but he was not a person who went back on his word. His promise to Craig, on the previous day, that he would not mention his name after he interviewed him would not be broken to Mr. Crowell. He could tell that the two men facing him were trying to pull the wool over his eyes to cover then own backs and he was not going to have it. No; he knew how to turn the tables on them.

'Why, you told me yourself!' he replied, with raised eyebrows and an air of surprise.

'_I _told you,' cried Mr. Crowell, with perhaps a little too much indignation in his voice. Mr. Truscott turned and looked at him. 'I most certainly did not!'

'Oh come on, Mr. Crowell, surely you remember our little conversation in the Queen's Head on Cockcroft Avenue, yesterday?'

Mr. Truscott was frowning, a look of surprise and perplexity upon his face.

'What conversation? I've never even met you before today!' He turned to Mr. Truscott, a look that said "I'm not lying" on his face. 'I swear its true, sir; I've never met this man before.'

'Yes alright, Mr. Crowell, I believe you,' replied Truscott, but in his mind he had doubts that Crowell was indeed telling the truth. 'Now,' he said, turning to Kurt, 'I think we should move on.'

'Yes alright,' agreed Kurt, seeing that the damage had been done and that the had managed to plant the seeds of doubt in Mr. Truscott's mind. 'What do you know about DC Michael Webb?'

'Well I don't see why you can't know the answer to that one,' said Truscott. 'All either Mr. Crowell and I know about him is that he is a detective constable at Sun Hill Police Station and that he helped put this particular prisoner back inside when he escaped last time.'

'Did you know that he was also raped by the prisoner in question three years ago?'

'Yes. Thanks to the nature of his job and you lot I don't doubt that there isn't a person in this entire country that doesn't know about his rape but that is all I know about the man.'

'So you did not know that he has been missing for almost four weeks now? Around the same time as his rapist escaped from this very prison.'

'No. I did not know that,' Truscott lied.

'That's interesting Mr. Truscott. You see I have it on good authority that both Mr. Crowell an' your good self have been assisting Sun Hill Police in trying to find their missing colleague. Why is that?'

Mr. Truscott made no reply.

'I think it is because you were worried that if word got out that you had let a incredibly dangerous and unpredictable criminal escape for the second time your reputation and job would go down the pan so by helping the Sun Hill team try and find their missing colleague, who may be been held captive by your escaped prisoner, which will make you look responsible. I think that you, sir, are a selfish bastard: there is a man out their causing terror to the local people of Petersfield who may be 'olding his rape victim, for although DC Webb is a police officer he is still a victim, captive, I wouldn't like to think what he is doing to the poor guy if he is, and all you can are concerned with is your reputation and believe me when I'm finished with you, Mr. Truscott, I'm going to make sure the country knows that too. My editor, Mr. Marcus Hammond, has a lot of friends working high-up for the national papers and both he and I shall make sure they get find of that and shall make your name stink from here to John O' Groats and back, we can you know.'

'I think that Mr. Wilson has outstayed his welcome,' replied Warden Truscott, turning to Mr. Crowell, 'Senior Prison Officer, Crowell, would you kindly show Mr. Wilson the door, please.'

Within a few minutes Kurt found himself out in the car park of Canley High-Security Prison and the door being firmly shut behind him by Mr. Crowell.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

DS Leslie Carlisle and DC Keighley Abbott were sitting in their car watching, at a safe distance on Donald Brock's land, the farmhouse at the foot of Butser Hill for any signs of Martin Delaney when suddenly a black Vauxhall Vectra pulled up and their DCI got out of the car. With him was a man neither of them had met before. He was a tall man with grey, balding hair and, therefore, must have been near retiring age. He is face was old and worn and his blue eyes carried a look of sadness; as if he was gravely concerned about something. He was wearing a navy blue suite and pale blue tie over a cream trench coat; the sort of coat that stereotypically goes with being a detective.

DCI Ted Nicholson went up to the DS and DC, with the strange man following behind him, and introduced him as DCI Jack Meadows from Sun Hill: a branch of the Metropolitan police up in London.

''E's come down here because the squatter, if he is who we suspect him to be, has been investigated by DCI Meadows and his team in the past,' explained DCI Nicholson. He turned to Jack as if seeking his approval to continue. Jack nodded his head so Ted carried on: 'DCI Meadows also believes that are squatter maybe holding one of his officer's hostage therefore, once he has positively identified the squatter, he wants any arrest to be a quick as possible.'

Suddenly all conversation stopped as the front door of the farmhouse opened and a middle-aged man with blonde hair, wearing a cream T-shirt, demin jacket and jeans came out and flung a cigarette end into the grass.

'That's him: that's Martin Delaney!!' cried Jack, peering through the set of binoculars DS Carlisle had given him.

_No sign of Mickey, though. Oh Mickey where are you? I want you back in Sun Hill, safe and sound._


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: All characters belong to The Bill expect those in Hampshire, Kurt Wilson and the staff on Canley High-Security Prison, which are my own. Although all most of the places in Hampshire are real the character's that live in these places are entirely fictional.

Author's Notes: Words in _Italics _are character's thoughts. Also this is quite along chapter. You have been warned.

Chapter 10

_Wednesday 27th September_

'I don' know why th' prison in London couldn' say straight out whether they had 'ad a prisoner escape instead of beatin' round the bush loike it sounds they 'as done, reading this 'ere article,' said Gerry Long, landlord of the Ye Olde Inn in Ramsdean, reading Kurt's article in that morning's copy of _The Downland _News to Harry Nutley, the farmer over on War Down, 'which annoys me 'cause everyone round 'ere knows there's some bugger squattin' at Butser 'Ill an' 'e's been causing some sort of bother an' I reckon that after readin' t'day's newspaper everyone's goin' t'be certain 'e's escaped from that there Canley High Security Prison up in London.'

'Yep. You're roight there, Gerry.'

At this early hour there was no one in the Ye Olde Inn at Ramsdean. The stone floor lay cool, dark and smooth as a woodland pool. The newly-lit coal fire was burning away in his brick fire place and Misty; Gerry's wife beautiful, female, Russian Blue cat was lying on one of the empty chairs by the fire, purring with contentment.

'But then when 'as anyone in London cared about what goes on down 'ere?' continued Harry. 'The Isle of Wight could vanish under th' sea an' no one in London would notice.'

'T'true, 'Arry, t'true but I doubt they can avoid th' issue now youn' Wilson chap 'as gone up there, of 'is own back, an' probably out of 'is own pocket an' all, an' questioned 'em about th' issue face t'face. An' they'll be plenty of people round 'ere as you'll not be 'appy when they read t'day's paper; your mate, Donald Brock, for one.'

'True but I reckon there's nothin' any one can do 'xcept wait for th' whole thing to play out. I reckon Winchester police will be wantin' to arrest th' guy as soon as possible. We just 'ave to wait an' see 'ow that goes, Gerry.'

'Yep. You're right there, 'Arry.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Martin Delaney once more flung a cigarette end across the grass outside the farmhouse. Looking up he saw a Vauxhall Vectra parked in the field that bordered the farmhouse land.

_Ah'm sure Ah saw that very same car there, yesterday. I wonder if someone's spying on us. If they are they'll soon see what Ah do wi' spies jist like that noisy fella that was photographing did._

Suddenly he saw a man wearing a trench coat and with balding, grey hair watching him through a pair of binoculars.

_Ah didna believe it! It cannot be! That's Mickey's DCI. Ah recognise him from the last time Ah escaped; he interviewed me along wi' that Asian lassie. Mickey, the little cunt: he musta managed to get him to come doon here somehow. Ah thought I'd completely destroyed that wee blonde haired twat but, obviously, Ah haven't. Well Ah'll make sure he knows who is boss when Ah've finished with him!_

He went back inside; slamming the door shut with a mighty clash behind him, and stomped up the stairs two at a time. He ripped upon the door of Mickey's room; almost pulling it off of its hinges.

When Mickey saw Delaney enter the room he had assumed he had come to have sex with him as had become the custom between them. Instead Delaney yanked the young DC up by his golden hair until the ropes around Mickey's arms were digging, painfully, into his wrists.

'Ow! You're 'urting me, Mr. Delaney. I thought I was a good boy now an' you weren't gonna 'urt me no more!' Mickey cried out, in a child-like voice.

'So did I, Pretty-boy, but then Ah go outside tae get rid of a cigarette end and Ah see a car in the field next door and your bloody DCI watching us. Ah could tell it was him 'cause Ah remembered him interviewing me the last time Ah escaped. You sent him, didn't you, you dirty, wee, bastard!'

He pulled harder on Mickey's hair.

'No I didn't!'

'Don't lie to me, Pretty-boy!'

'I'm not, Mr. Delaney, I promise,' begged Mickey in his child-like voice, there were tears in his eyes.

'Ah thought Ah'd got through to you. Obviously Ah was wrong. Not to worry you'll never deify me again when Ah'm finished with you!'

With that he stripped naked and thrust himself as hard as possibly could into Mickey. The young DC screamed at the pain he felt.

'Please stop, Mr. Delaney.'

'Oh you want me to stop, do you, Pretty-boy? Well you should have thought of that before you got your mate tae come doon here to watch us.'

'I told you I didn't. I wouldn't lie to you, Mr. Delaney; I'm not a bad boy now!'

'Oh yes you are. You're a bad, dirty little boy!'

The tears continued to roll down Mickey's face.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**CONFIDENTAL **

To: Her Majesty's Chief Inspector of Prisons

Your confidential instruction of yesterday's date, relating to and covering a copy of the Home Secretary's personal letter to yourself about the necessity, due to recent events, of making Her Majesty's Prison Service more effective, as an urgent and immediate matter, by removing inadequate and inexperienced staff by outright dismissal; asks the warden to submit a report dealing with the matter by the end of shift tonight. This report deals with that matter.

It is recommended first, that it would be prudent to dispense of Junior Prison Officer Craig Johnson. A Newcastle-born young man of twenty six years who was employed around June 2006. Mr. Johnson, in the three months he has been with us, has not shown to be much of an asset. Add to this the fact that it was inexperience and failure to do his checks correctly that was one of the factors that allowed prisoner Martin Delaney to escape on the 27th August 2006 and I believe his dismissal will be justified.

After careful consideration, I have also concluded that we should part with Senior Prison Officer Jim Crowell. Mr. Crowell, a local man of fifty-two years of age, has been with Canley High-Security Prison for almost two years and has shown himself to be an honest man; capable of work of a satisfactory standard. In this case, however, he has shown himself to be a complete liability: neglecting to supervise an inexperienced officer while he was making checks upon a highly dangerous criminal; this was another factor which resulted in Martin Delaney escaping from our prison on the 27th August 2006.

There is also the possibility that he may have preached security by speaking with a journalist in a local pub about Mr. Delaney's escape. I would, however, like to empathise that this is just a possibility since Senior PO Crowell has hotly denied the journalist's accusations that such a conversation occurred. I would, however, like to add that Mr. Crowell has had some serious personal issues recently. At the beginning of August his son and daughter-in-law were tragically killed in a car crash while holidaying in America and he has been left to care for his five year old granddaughter, who survived the crash. .

I wish to stress that in the normal way no question of Senior PO Crowell's dismissal would arise. Both as a man and a prison officer he has a tendency to become too neglectful with things. For example when we were assisting Sun Hill Police with the case of their missing CID officer, DC Michael Webb, who has had links with Mr. Delaney in the past Senior PO Crowell commented to me that perhaps we should leave Sun Hill to continue their search without our assistance. He seemed completely unconcerned and unaware of the fact that such a feat would have left us open to media scrutiny.

I should find it difficult, even at the current to stay of play envisaged for the future, to recommend further staff dismissals. It is, of course, as I realise, of seeing how little we can, indeed, get away with. May I conclude, however, by saying that will be very willing to go over ground, as far as my prison is concerned, at the Increasing Staff Awareness in Her Majesty's Prison Service conference secluded by yourself tomorrow at 1:30 tomorrow afternoon?

(signed) M. W. Truscott

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

' "Inconclusive," ' said Fred Dickinson, as he read out the article in _The Downland News_, which had not being written by Kurt since he was up in London, 'yeah well that's all th' coroner could 'ave said on th' evidence. I mean Jennings' is lyin' dead with serve chest wounds but there's no weapon found t'say someone stabbed 'im.'

'Yep, true, but I tell you, Fred, it was th' worst thing I ever seen.'

It was evening and Donald Brock was once more sitting with his fellow farmer and friend, Fred Dickinson, in the Ye Olde Inn in Ramsdean. They were discussing Donald's the coroner's report on Conley Jennings' body.

'An' I'll you sumfing else,' continued Donald, ''F one more bloody newspaper journalist come t'th' door asking questions about it I'll belt the arse off of 'im. An' on top of that I've got Winchester police's CID and some DCI from London campin' out at th' bottom of my field; watchin' th' squatter in th' ol' farmhouse at th' foot of Butser Hill.'

Fred nodded in silent sympathy.

'I'll tell you something, Don,' said Fred, at length. 'That newspaper reporter; the young one, Wilson, you remember when you first did an interview 'im? Remember me tellin' you 'e sounded like 'e was a real 'andy lad an' that 'e sound like 'e had look farmers concerns as 'is top priority?'

'Yeah I do.'

'Well 'appen I was wrong. 'E's done nothin' just made up scandalous storylines to ensure 'is newspaper keeps sellin' 'n his boss is kept 'appy. I reckon 'e's made _more _trouble for us not less.'

'I agree. 'N I'll tell you somefing else, Fred, I don' reckon 'e intended squatter to get arrested at all. Longer 'e goes on squattin,' better 'e was please, you know. Well 'e'll make no more out of me, Fred. I won' open th' door to 'im or any of th' other journalist bastards.'

_Thursday 28th September_

It was all buzz in the briefing room at Winchester Police Station as the team had just been briefed on the plan to arrest Martin Delaney.

'Ok let's recap,' said Superintendent Stephen Higgins. 'Thanks to DCI Jack Meadows of Sun Hill we know now that our squatter _is _Martin Delaney. Therefore as many bodies, uniform and CID will accompany DCI Nicholson and DCI Meadows to the farmhouse to arrest Delaney. We shall also have the assistance of a dog team and police helicopters in case Delaney spots us coming and decides to make a run for it over the downs. Remember he is an extremely dangerous man who has no qualms in harming police officers as well as ordinary civilians so approach him with extreme caution. Any questions?'

There was none.

'Right dismissed.'

Within twenty minutes a whole of host of police cars, there sirens blearing and lights flashing, were making there way through the early-morning Winchester traffic and out onto the A272 and down to Butser Hill via the A31.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Delaney awoke, around 8:30 am, to the sounds of sirens sounding somewhere close by. As quick as he possibly could he got up and crept to the window. Peering out of the window he could clearly a whole host of police cars surrounding the farmhouse.

_The bastards! Well they winna' get me that easily. _

Leaving Mickey sleeping in his room Delaney hastened out of the farmhouse and began to make his assent up the summit of Butser Hill.

Humans walk upright on two legs, therefore, making it a climb up a steep hill strenuous because we have to keep punishing our vertical mass upwards and cannot gain any momentum. The plus side for humans is that being five or sex foot above the hillside we can see all around, therefore, as Delaney climbed Butser Hill he ground appeared to be steep and rough but on the whole it was even; and he could pick his direction easily from his six foot tower.

When he reached the top of Butser Hill he turned right and walked along the ridge. A cold, September, rain began to fall and before he had reached the A3 it had turned into a heavy downpour. Delaney crossed the A3 at the point just before it becomes a duel carriageway and headed towards the village Buriton.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'Bloody police all over th' fields n' down,' said Donald Brock, 'chasin' that there Delaney fella 'ere an' there all over th' place; destroying crops n' scarin' sheep, you know n' newspaper journalists bangin' on th' door 'alf th' day an' chaps in cars zoomin' about th' lane n' openin' gates and crushin' fences when they're reversin' n' not watchin' where they is going. I reckon forty pounds of damage been done in this one day n' I'll tell you this, Fred, there's someone goin' to get a bill from me before all this bloody chaos is done.'

'Yep, n' don' forget th' helicopter flyin' about th' place n' froightin' cows – they've all bein' gallopin' up n' down th' field fit t'burst 'emselves but there's nuffin we can do about it, ol' chap, so you'd best just sit yourself down n' thank th' Lord that at least Winchester police are doin' somefing at last to 'elp us.'

'That's bollocks, Fred,' said Donald, reaching down and patting Skye's head. 'Neither Winchester Police nor newspaper chaps 'as been th' slightest bit interested in 'elpin' local farmers. Newspaper chap is only interested in sellin' papers n' police are only doin' somefing now 'cause they reckon that there squatter's a dangerous rapist who's escaped from a London prison.'

'Yeah, well, like I said nuffin we can do about it, Don, just got t'grin n' bear it I s'pose,' said Fred, despondently. 'Anyway are you goin' over t' Ramsdean?'

'No I'm 'eadin' th' other way; down t'Horndean t'pick up a couple of spare tyres for th' Land Rover. 'F anymore newspaper chaps or police comin' knockin' while I'm gone th' missus can answer th' door n' give 'em what for if'n she wishes 'cause I've 'ad enough of th' lot 'em.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'Well here we are at the foot of Butser Hill, the highest point in the South Downs, and its perfectly possible – indeed, most likely, that we're going to be on the last act of this tremendous drama of Butser Hill's mysterious squatter, who has had the whole of the Meon Valley by the ears for the last four weeks. I am Richard Jackson, reporting for the BBC Hampshire, and with me now is Superintendent Stephen Higgins of Winchester Police who is in command of this operation to find and arrest this dangerous man who has been squatting and robbing and murdering on this beautiful down in the Meon Valley since his escape from a high-security prison in London. Now what does it feel like, Superintendent, to be in charge of such an operation as this?'

'Well naturally, because of all this particular criminal has done, we want him caught as soon as possible.'

'But there have been claims, particularly by local farmers, that you and your team have not taken this case seriously. Do you have anything to say to that, Superintendent?'

'At the beginning we did not arrest the man because we were not aware of how dangerous he was and as he was squatting in a disowned house which is not breaking the law. I would like to stress that as soon as we realised there was more dangerous than just a squatter we were on the case.'

'And what should anyone do if they happen to see the suspect?'

'Well we would advice them not to approach the man as he is a highly dangerous and unpredictable criminal and to call a special emergency number that we have set up especially. That number is 02380 2781460.

'Thank you, Superintendent Higgins. And for anyone that did not get that number it is currently running along the bottom of the screen. Now Superintendent Higgins' men are out on the downs and fields of this beautiful section of the Meon Valley – rather lonely and peaceful now as we had into the autumn and winter months but in the summer it is one of the hotspots for people on a day out from Winchester and Southampton and as we move along the road you shall see what a beautiful place it is – careful now, everybody, the squatter might be lurking just in those woods there, let's have a look, no he's not and on we go.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Buriton is a pretty little village; rural and peaceful, except for when a train makes its way down the Portsmouth to London line which crosses the outskirts of Buriton, approximately 2 and a half miles (or 4 km) south of Petersfield with two pubs, a large duck pond, a church known as St. Mary's and a population of approximately 736.

Delaney entered Buriton from the west, about hour after he had originally left the old farmhouse at the foot of Butser Hill, crossing over the railway by way of a bridge and making his way down into Buriton itself.

Mrs. Rita Dean, landlady of The Master Roberts Inn; formally The Maple; a white painted building with a red slate roof and doorway, was watering the plants in the pots on the corner of the pub, next to the crossroads, when she saw Delaney who, with his cropped blonde hair and demin jacket, cream T-shirt and jeans would now have been recognised anywhere from Basingstoke to Southampton and the New Forest, make his way, past her and straight over the crossroads; down towards Saint Mary's church.

Many people would have panicked at seeing such a dangerous criminal so close to them but not Rita Dean, for she was a level-headed woman; not prone to hysteria. As soon as she had seen Delaney we rushed inside and picked up the phone and dialled the special emergency number given out by Superintendent Higgins earlier in that morning's news report.

A few minutes and Delaney was seen, lurking at the bottom of the graveyard of St. Mary's Church in the conifers by the church minister: Father Peter Jacobs. The graveyard St. Mary's Church is where the unmarked grave of the renowned 17th century botanist, John Goodyer presides. John Goodyer's reputation was, apparently, so great that during the Civil War a royalist ordered to his men: "on all occasions defend and protect John Goodyer, his house, servants, family, goods, chattels and estates of all sorts from all damages, disturbances and oppressions whatever."

Father Charles Jacobs knew little or nothing of Martin Delaney and all that he had done in the time he had been in Hampshire for did not read _The Downland News_, as he could not afford it,nor had he seen the news report by BBC Hampshire that morning as he had been up early, as was his habit, prying and atoning for his sins for two hours before he partook of his breakfast and even if this had not been the case it was highly probable that he still would not have seen the BBC Hampshire news report that morning or read _The Downland News _as he had other, more pressing, matters to attend to such as visiting the sick or giving one of the local farmers a hand with delivering the newborn lambs during the spring. He had, however, vaguely heard one or two of the villagers of Buriton talking about it after his sermon last Sunday but by this point it had left his mind.

Whoever the man was Father Jacobs guessed that something must troubling him and so he decided to see if he could help him after all that was his religious duty.

The grass in the graveyard was wet from the rain which drenched Father Jacobs as he approached the man hiding in the conifers.

'Do not be afraid, my son,' said Father Jacobs, 'I have not come to condemn you only to other you my listening and attentive ears should you wish to talk about whatever is troubling you. If you are in trouble with someone maybe I can help.'

'No, no thank you,' replied Delaney.

'Then at least come inside and have something to eat. I doubt you have eaten all morning. You must, therefore, be hungry.'

Father Jacobs was right. Delaney had not eaten all morning and he was very hungry but still he hung back. Since the chaplain from his first stint in prison had broken his confidence that he would not tell anyone that Delaney had told him he had been raped by Trevor Makin Delaney had lost trust in religious men and women such as priests and nuns and so, therefore, he was rather reluctant to follow Father Jacobs. Father Jacobs must have sensed Delaney's reluctance for he said:

'It's alright I shan't tell anyone you've been here. I promise.'

Giving into his hunger Delaney followed the minister into his little house behind St. Mary's Church.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'- so, I'm afraid to say, that really is the long and short of it,' said Warden Trucott.

Senior Prison Officer Jim Crowell remained standing by the window of his warden's office in silence. His face bore both a puzzled and disbelieving expression and it was clear he did not know what to make of his superior's news.

'There really is no need to let it upset you,' said Warden Truscott, 'and I certainly do not want you to think of it as you being dismissed because you were not doing your job properly because that is simply not the case,' he lied.

_Then what am I to think of it as, you ignorant, selfish twat._

'There's still the question of why me and not anyone else, sir,' said Mr. Crowell at length, looking out of the window at the surrounding buildings. _God this city really is ugly!_

'Well, obviously we cannot discuss the manner in those terms,' replied Warden Truscott.

'Has there been some sort of official report made, sir, and if so may I see it?'

'Now let's be sensible about this, Jim, you are an experienced enough officer to know very well that if they was a report you couldn't see it. You are, however, allowed to have an interview with Her Majesty's Chief Inspector of Prisons but she shall only repeat what I have said to you today.'

'Isn't there anything that can be done, sir, its just Elsie and I 'ave just got little Chloe settled in school and, after what she's been through this summer, another distribution and might do her some serious harm.'

'Well I can only repeat, Jim, that you are quite entitled to see Her Majesty's Chief Inspector of Prisons if you wish. I'm sure she'd welcome a chat. You've been a pleasure to work with, Jim, you must never think anything different,' said Warden Truscott, offering his hand out to Mr. Crowell.

Begrudgingly Mr. Crowell took Warden Truscott's offered out hand and shook it then he left the office and made is way to his locker and emptied it. That was it; his years as a prison officer over with in a flash. Picking up his car keys he left the prison, slamming the door shut behind him.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

It was about half past ten and the rain had ceased. On the open tarmac in front of The Master Roberts Inn, DCI Ted Nicholson stood briefing his team with DCI Jack Meadows at his side, offering insights into Delaney's behaviour. Now the rain had stopped it was turning out to be a mild enough morning, though still very wet under foot, and at least one male blackbird could be heard singing his fluty song in a nearby beach tree.

'Ok let's recap,' said DCI Nicholson, 'Martin Delaney was seen on these very premises hardly more than an hour ago. He, therefore, is 'ardly likely to be very far away. If that is correct than th' openness and general rural nature of th' area should allow us, with the assistance of th' police helicopters and th' dog team, to locate 'im, surround 'im and arrest 'im hopefully in time for lunch.'

This brought a round of laughter and cheers from some of the more portly members of his relief.

'Anyone have any questions? No. Right move out!'

When the rest the relief had made their way down the bank towards St. Mary's Church DCI Nicholson turned to Jack and said:

'I bet your feeling relieved, sir, the way things are going you should have Delaney caught and back in Canley by this evening. You never know we may even get medals for this,' he joked.

'So long as he's caught and we find my missing DC, alive and well, that's all that matters to me,' replied Jack, although in his mind he seriously doubted that Mickey would be found alive and well.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

After been given a hearty full English breakfast by Father Peter Jacobs, the only person apart from his own mother who had ever shown Delaney any kindness; not, it could be argued, that he deserved any, Delaney had continued on his way out of Buriton and down a cart track towards Cowhouse Farm.

As he past under the pylon line just south of Cowhouse Farm, his ears just picking up the unnatural, electrical humming of the pylons, Delaney suddenly heard the sound of a helicopter propeller. In the next moment he saw the helicopter itself; a police one, directly above him in the September sky. Martin Delaney was certainly no genius but it did not take him long to realise that the occupants of the helicopter were using it to search for him.

He began to sprint as fast as he could along the open ground towards the Hampshire/West Sussex county border.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'Sir,' a voice suddenly came through the radio that DCI Nicholson was using to communicate with the pilot of the police helicopter, 'we've spotted Delaney. He's on the open ground just south of Cow'ouse Farm, 'E's just this minute run under the pylon line, n' it appears 'e's 'eading for th' county borderline I reckon 'e's gonna cross it into West Sussex. Should we inform West Sussex police that's 'e's 'eading there way, sir, roger?'

'Not yet,' replied DCI Nicholson, 'I want to see if'n we can catch 'im afore 'e crosses th' boundary, roger'

'Right o, sir, over and out.'

As soon as they had gone DCI Nicholson spoke down the radio he used for communicating with the relief and said:

'Urgent! All units respond! Martin Delaney has been spotted on the open ground south of Cowhouse Farm, heading towards the 'Ampshire/West Sussex border I want us to get over there and arrest him before he gets across th' border.'

With that DCIs Nicholson and Meadows got into DCI Nicholson's car and sped as fast as they could through Buriton towards the cart track which leads to Cowhouse Farm.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

From: 28 September 2006 10:47:23

To: Get back to Hampshire ASAP.

Kurt,

Get your arse back down here ASAP. It's all kicking off! The cops have been chasing Delaney all over the countryside; from Butser Hill to Buriton and the word is that he's headed for the Hampshire/West Sussex county boundary. Thought you might like to know. Aren't I a nice bloke? If you miss this you'll miss the biggest story of your life.

Your drinking buddy and colleague,

Chris Young

P.S. Don't forget this, you sod, next time you get something good make sure I get the exclusive, will you?

_Thanks Chris you're a pal. Shit, I best get myself back to Hampshire right now!_

With that Kurt turned off the laptop, packed it away in its special bag and searched for his car keys. When he found them he ran down the stairs, laptop bag under his arm, rushed out something about having to head back to Hampshire early and apologies for the in convince to the poor, bemused hotel receptionist, rushed out the hotel door opened his car door, got it and flung the laptop onto the passenger seat and closed his door, started the car and then made his way, liked greased lighting, back down to Hampshire.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Mr. Crowell sat at the kitchen table of his house, stirring his tea nonchalantly. Pacing the floor with her arms crossed was his wife, Mrs. Elsie Crowell. Their granddaughter, Chloe Crowell, was at school.

'Come on, Jim, there's no need to make it gloomier than it already is,' Mrs. Crowell was saying.

'I feel I've let you and Chloe down,' Mr. Crowell said suddenly, breaking the silence which he had submitted to since arriving home at 9:30, much to the surprise of Mrs. Crowell.

'Of course you haven't! Now listen-'

'I just don't understand why they've done it,' he interrupted her, 'I suppose its because I'm nearing retiring age; easier to get rid of the cynical old timer than the strapping, enthusiastic, youngster.'

'Don't upset yourself any more, my dear. They're not worth bothering about. Anyway I thought you said that you couldn't stand that Warden Truscott thought you said he was an ignorant, pompous man.'

'He is.'

'Well there you are then! Personally I reckon he's treated you worse than they treat those prison inmates they're supposed to be guarding.'

'You're right! Elsie, love, I've been thinking, and I've been thinking about this ever since I realised Truscott wasn't interested in helping Sun Hill Police find their missing colleague; only in covering his own back, we've wanted to move to the country for so long now and now you're retired and I no longer have a job, I mean what's keeping us in this dirty, noisy, city. What I'm trying to say is we should take that step: I think we should move to the country.'

'Now hold on, Jim-'

'Since I cannot work as a prison officer ever again I'm going to be looking for another, completely different, sort of job so why not look in the country and it might do little Chloe, and us, the world of good – help us come to terms with and move on from what happened over the summer and if we move somewhere not far away like Kent we'll still be able to come up and put flowers on Mark and Laura's grave.'

Mrs. Crowell was still not convinced.

'At least lets look at the house market and see what's on offer and how much houses are down there.'

'Oh alright but I'm not promising anything.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'Serria Oscar 764 we've got Martin Delaney in our sights.'

Delaney turned up towards Hurst Farm only to find another police car coming down, towards him, from the Nursted road. Delaney paused and looked around him they were that many police cars surrounding him; coming from every direction that he did not know which way to turn. Suddenly he saw DCI Meadows and DCI Nicholson approach him.

'Its over, Delaney,' called Meadows.

'Ah'm not going back inside, DCI,' called back Delaney in his Scottish drawl.

'I don't believe you have much of a choice,' retorted Jack.

Delaney tired to make a run for it but he was caught and held down my two of Winchester Police's uniformed officers, who happened to be PC Graham Adams and PC John Blake.

'There's nowhere left to run, Delaney,' said Jack.

'Ok get him out of here,' ordered DCI Nicholson.

As he was led away by PC Adams and PC Blake Delaney looked over his shoulder and called back to Jack:

'I suppose you want to know where your precious DC Webb is.'

'You know where he is? What have you done to him?'

'What have Ah down to him?' Delaney repeated Jack's question back at him. An evil smile crept on his face, 'Ah've fucked him: everyday for the last month Ah've screwed his arse and Ah've screwed it so hard that Ah've completely destroyed him. His precious mind is never going to be the same again.'

'Why you!' cried Jack, lunging forward; longing to harm and injure Delaney for Mickey's sake.

'Come on,' said DCI Nicholson, 'that's not going to help your DC Webb.'

'Where is he?' demanded Jack.

Delaney made no response.

'I SAID: WHERE IS HE?'

'In that old abandoned farmhouse; the one where I've been squatting in this last month.'

As Jack raced off back to the abandoned farmhouse at the foot of Butser Hill and the police of Winchester carted Delaney off to spend the night in their cells before being sent back to Canley High-Security Prison over in the bushes someone smiled to themselves. It was Kurt Wilson. He had arrived back from London just in time to see everything and get some cracking photographs while he was at it. Mr. Hammond and Mr. Clark were going to love him tomorrow morning.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

As soon as got back to the old farmhouse Jack raced around it desperately trying to find Mickey but he was nowhere to be found. He called out his name but there was no response.

_He must be upstairs._

Jack raced up the stairs, two at a time, and searched every room but there was no sign of Mickey. Suddenly he came to a small, wooden door. Heart pounding, he reached for the handle and with a shaking hand turned it and gently opened the door and set in the room.

The room had an old-fashioned look, proving that the house had indeed been abandoned for many years. There was a wardrobe in one corner and a dressing table in another and there, on an old-fashioned bed, lay a figure, face down to the bed, which Jack instantly recognised; a blonde-haired, young man. Going closer he could see the figure was half naked and that his legs and the bed sheets were covered in old blood and semen. Following the streaks of blood up the leg Jack saw that they began at the crack between the buttocks. The sight made him feel physically sick.

'Mickey,' he called out.

No response.

'Mickey,' he called again, 'Mickey can you here me?'

There was still no response. Gently Jack touched the other man on the back.

'Please no more, Mr. Delaney,' cried out the blonde-haired man, with a strong Essex accent, 'I tired to be a good boy, I really did, but I can't take anymore of this.'

_Oh my God, Mickey, what's he done to you?_

Despite the fact that Delaney had told him of what he had done to Mickey Jack he been totally unprepared and shocked by what he had seen.


	12. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: All characters belong to The Bill expect the rape examination doctor at the hospital and Dr. Karri Crosby who are entirely my own creations.

Chapter 11

_Friday 29th September_

Mickey Webb sat in the passenger's seat of Jack Meadow's car hunched over himself; studying his bruised hands which had red rings where the ropes had held him to the bed. Jack looked at his colleague and trusted friend and sighed. Mickey had not spoken since Jack had found him yesterday and Jack was seriously worried about the young man's mental health for wherever his friend was in that sandy, blonde head of his it wasn't a pretty place; Delaney he had been right: the bastard had destroyed Mickey's mind.

After he had recovered from the initial shock of what he had seen when he had discovered the young DC. Jack had untied the ropes and had dug out the old tin bath that belonged to the farmhouse and, after filling it with water; he had helped Mickey to bathe; to clean up most of the blood and semen. Then, realising that Mickey was in no fit state to begin the journey back to London that day, Jack had got out his mobile and called as many hotels in the area as he possibly could. The only one willing to put the two men up on such short notice was the Tl Winchester in Sutton Scotney, a few miles north of Winchester, provided that the two men were willing to share the same room; twin beds of course. They were.

It had been a restlessness night for both of them. Poor Mickey kept waking up, crying and screaming, but whenever Jack tried to hold him; to comfort him he moved away from the touch, shaking in terror as he did so, as if he thought Jack was going to hurt him. 'It's alright, Mickey, I'm not going to hurt you,' Jack had tired to reassure him, but it proved to be no avail and Mickey had remained, curled up, in the corner of his bed while Jack lay awake; close to tears at the sight of his friend who had been used and abused by Delaney and now, as a result, was so broken.

Suddenly Jack broke the silence as they drove up the M3 towards London. He spoke using clear language and in soft voice, as if he was speaking to a child:

'Now we're going back to London. You remember London, don't you?'

Mickey made no response.

Jack felt at a loss. He did not know what to do or say to get his friend to respond to him. He decided it would probably be best to continue explaining to Mickey what they were going to do once they returned to London. At least that way the young man could see that Jack was not going to be another Delaney.

'Well when we get back to London,' he continued, 'we're going to go to the hospital so the doctor can look at you and see if you're ok and then we'll get you something to eat, 'cause I don't know if he's been feeding you, and we'll get you some clean clothes and then you're going to stay with me at my house.'

_I can't let him be on his own not in the state he's in and if I let him go back to his home that's exactly what he shall be: alone._

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

When they got back to London Jack immediately raced Mickey over to St. Hugh's; the hospital in Canley. After dealing with the questions from the receptionist Jack found himself guiding Mickey down the corridor towards the rape suite.

They both took up a chair outside the examination room. Jack sat with his hands pressed together in front of him while Mickey sat with his knees curled up to his chin, completely unaware of anything put his own thoughts. Delaney's abusive words echoed in his mind: _You're an insignificant person; a bad boy._

Mickey let out a little whine; in much the same as a dog goes when it is upset. He hunched in on himself and began to rock himself back and forth on the chair.

Jack noticed Mickey's strange behaviour and instantly went to comfort him but the young man cowed away from him; shaking and shivering as he did so.

After they had been sitting there a while, Mickey had managed to calm himself, a doctor came out to see them. Jack explained the situation as best he could and the doctor assured him that would take the greatest care when examining Mickey and then he led the young man into the examination room, leaving poor Jack to sit and wait and worry outside.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Mickey sat upon the bench in the examination room. It had been a hectic day and a half for him. Yesterday a strange man had come into his room in the old farmhouse at the foot of Butser Hill. At first he had thought Mr. Delaney must have brought a friend along to join in with their afternoon activity but Mr. Delaney was nowhere in sight. Instead this strange man had undone the ropes around his hands and taken him across the countryside to some sort of hotel where he had had to share a room with him. Mickey had expected the man to rape him, after all Delaney had so why shouldn't this man? But he hadn't and everything had seemed ok until he had broken down and the strange man tired to comfort him. Mickey couldn't let the man touch him; couldn't ever handle another man's hands on him, the crawling sensation of skin on skin contact sickened him. Why did all these strange, older men want to touch him? First Delaney and now the balding man with the cream trench coat and blue tie who spoke with a strange accent, like Delaney had done but it was different to Delaney's. What had he done to upset them? He came to the conclusion that he must have been an extremely bad boy and that he was being punished by someone for being so naughty.

'Now Mickey,' began the doctor gently and calmly. 'It is Mickey, isn't it?'

The young blonde-haired man made no response. The doctor looked puzzled by this but said nothing of it. Instead he said:

'I need you to take your trousers and underwear off.'

'No!' screamed Mickey.

'Please, Mickey, I need you to remove your trousers and underwear. I know you've been through a terrible ordeal but this is important.'

'Why do I 'ave to do this!!! I'm a good boy now!!! I'm a good boy I not do anyfing naughty, anymore, I promise just please don't make me do this anymore!!!'

The doctor had dealt with many rape victims before, some male and some female, and although they all reacted differently; some subdued and willing to co-operate others more hesitant and resisting none of them had ever reacted to him in the way Mickey was. The doctor was no psychologist but it was clear to him that something was not altogether right in Mickey's mind. He must have been seriously abused by his rapist, and it must have been going on for sometime, to the point that it had seriously damaged the young man's mental and emotional well-being. The doctor was not a man given to emotional outbursts, indeed it could be argued that one could not be that sort of person when doing a job such as his, but he had such an urge to take this broken young man into his arms and hug him and tell him everything was alright but, of course, he didn't. Instead he said:

'Yes, Mickey, you are a good boy and good boys do what they are asked, don't they? So I'm going to ask you again, nicely, Mickey will you please take your trousers and underwear off.'

Reluctantly Mickey did so. His desire to be a good boy overruling his fear of being sexually abused again; for the time being.

'Good boy,' praised the doctor.

Mickey's navy briefs were covered with blood from where the torn flesh in his anus had bled. Mickey was rather freaked out at seeing this but the doctor managed to soothe him.

'It's ok, Mickey, it's ok. That's normal for what's happened.'

Mickey was not keen on this man. He smelled funny and wore funny clothes and was now putting some strange, rubber sort of gloves over his hands. He seemed to want to do the same to him as Delaney had done to him. Mickey braced himself for what was about to happen next and then felt the man enter him.

But what was this? The man had not stuck his penis up him but his fingers?! What was he doing to him and why? Whatever it was it hurt almost as much as what Mr. Delaney had done to him. Mickey cried out with the pain.

'Stop!!! Your 'urting me!!! I'm not a bad boy anymore!!!'

Saying those words; it was almost like being back in the old farmhouse with Delaney grunting and labouring over him day after day.

'I'm sorry, Mickey, so sorry but I have to do this.'

His latex-gloved fingers withdrew and he changed the gloves and checked Mickey's gentiles for any signs of bruising and took a blood sample, which resulted in poor Mickey practically screaming the place down, to check for HIV and other possible STD's it was only then that he noticed the now fully developed bruises on Mickey's arms from where Delaney had hit him and the red rings from where he had been tied to the bed.

_Oh Lord!!! What kind of sick bastard could've done this?_

Then he waited for Mickey to dress himself and then led him back outside to Jack.

'DCI Meadows.' the doctor called.

Jack looked up as he heard someone mention his name.

'Yes?'

'Can I have a word with you? In private.'

'Yes of course.'

Jack turned to Mickey.

'Now you just wait here a few minutes. I won't be long ok?'

Mickey did not look at the man as he nodded.

'Mickey,' called Jack.

There was no response.

'Mickey.'

Still no response.

Jack tapped Mickey on the shoulder and the young DC turned round in fright.

'Would you like a drink or something to eat?'

Mickey nodded.

'I'll get you something when I come back.'

Then he followed the doctor off towards his office.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The doctor sat back on a recliner chair while, on the other side of the desk, Jack Meadows sat on an ordinary chair looking tense and worried. Suddenly the doctor spoke:

'Obviously I have to wait for the HIV and other STD tests to come back but, a side from the fact that he's lost a lot of blood, there's no physical damage been done to him but I think they may be a lot of mental damage been done.'

'Yes I was thinking the same too,' sighed Jack, regretfully.

'I am no psychologist but it appears as if Mickey has been subject to a few different forms of abuse since his kidnap. While I was examining him he kept saying: "Why are you hurting me I'm not a bad boy anymore." I think this Delaney may have been psychologically abusing him as well as sexually. When I went to withdraw blood for the HIV and STD test I noticed there was a lot of bruising on his arms so I think he may also have been subjected to a degree of physical abuse. There is also the fact that he seems unable to respond to his own name. Taking all these things into account I think it is best that I refer him to a psychologist.'

'If you think it will help him go ahead,' replied Jack.

'I am going to refer him to Doctor Karri Crosby. She is one of the top psychologists in the country and has had a tremendous amount of success with helping victims of abuse of all kinds; physical, sexual, psychological and emotional. I believe she will be the best possible person to help Mickey.'

'Thank you very much for your time and help, doctor.'

'Not at all, DCI Meadows, I'm just doing my job.'

Both men shook hands and then Jack made his way down the hospital café to buy a drink and some food for Mickey.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

As he walked along the corridor towards the hospital café Jack's mind was on what the doctor had said. Jack had the urge, crawling like an itch under his skin, to hurt Delaney like he had hurt Mickey to see how the dirty bastard liked a taste of his on medicine but, of course, Jack knew he never would. He sighed. _Keep it together, Jack, hurting Delaney won't help Mickey and you know that. I've got to concentrate on helping Mickey get better, help him recover from this._

At that moment Jack passed a small kiosk selling gifts for people in the hospital. Most of them were engraved with Get Well Soon on them and looking at them Jack doubted Mickey would get back to his old self anytime soon, even if this psychologist – what was her name, again? That was it; Karri Crosby – was helping him.

Suddenly something caught Jack's eye. It was a soft toy in the form of a rabbit. It had button eyes and its noise was finally stitched with brown cotton. He had chocolate brown ears, paws and feet made from smooth material but Jack was not sure what and its paler brown fur and white underbelly was made from wiry wool; to make it look like real rabbit fur.

On an impulse Jack picked up the cuddly rabbit and asked the kiosk girl how much it was.

'£2.95,' she replied.

'I'll take it,' said Jack, handing her a £5.00 note.

She rang it up on the till, put it in a bag, and gave him £2.05 in change.

Since Mickey was resisting being touched and comforted, even though he needed comfort right now after all he had been through, Jack hoped that the cuddly rabbit would help. True it could offer him words of comfort like "its ok" and "no one's going to hurt you now," which he believed Mickey really needed to hear right now, but it could, hopefully, bring him some sort of comfort.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Looking along the corridor Mickey could see the man with the cream trench coat and blue tie returning.

'I got you some cheese sandwiches and a can of coke,' the man told him, handing Mickey the packet containing the sandwiches.

Mickey pulled and tugged at the packet but he could not seem to open it.

'I'm a stupid insignificant person,' he cried out, I can't even open a wrapper!!'

'Here,' said Jack, gently, 'let me help you.'

But Mickey would not let the other man near him. He screamed as soon as Jack tired to get close to him.

'Shush!!! Its ok, Mickey. I'm not going to hurt you. See I brought this.'

The young man did not look at him when he spoke his name as one may expect he would but Jack was becoming accustomed to this and so he tapped the young man on the shoulder. Mickey flinched from the touch but made eye-contact with Jack nonetheless.

He watched as the man with the cream trench coat and blue tie with the Yorkshire accent pulled out, from a bag, the cuddly rabbit with the chocolate brown ears, paws and feet and handed it to him. _Should I take it? What if it is something that is going to 'urt me? But if I don't take it then I will be a bad boy. I'm not a bad boy anymore. Bad boys get 'urt like what Mr. Delaney done before. I don't want this man to do that to me too. Gonna be a good boy and take the rabbit._

Gingerly he held out his trembling hands and took the rabbit from Jack's and held it close to his skin, feeling its rough but cuddly woollen "fur" against the skin of his cheek.

'I good boy now,' he said, in a child-like manner. 'Please don't 'urt me like Mr. Delaney did.'

He looked at Jack, using his eyes to plead with him.

'I'm not going to hurt you like he did,' Jack assured him. 'Come on lets get you home.'

With that he led the way out of the hospital.

_Monday 2nd October_

Dr. Karri Crosby took in the appearance of the exterior of Sun Hill Police Station; a brick built building with the name of the station emblazed on a sign above its entrance way. Nothing special about it she decided, no different from any of the other Met stations she'd been in, but there was something different about this case to all the others she had ever done for the Met.

Dr. Crosby had been in many Met police stations before because, as she was a leading specialist in her field, the Met often called her in to deal with abuse victims; whether it is a child suffering from child abuse at the hands of one or both of his or her parents or a carer or an elderly woman found abused by inadequate staff in a care home, something which was sadly becoming more and more common these days or, even, a couple in a domestic violence case where one was hitting the other. No matter what the situation you could grantee that Dr. Crosby was the one called upon to lend her expertise.

Dr. Crosby glanced at her watch. 10:15 that meant she had another fifteen minutes before he interview with Sun Hill's DCI, a man named Jack Meadows. Dr. Crosby made her way to the reception desk. Mary-Ann Jackson; the receptionist, a young woman in her mid-twenties with brown eyes and auburn hair, was sitting filing her nails at her desk. It had been an unusually quite morning and, in complete boredom, she had restored to filing her nails with a nail file, which she carried in her handbag, just to occupier herself and to pass the time.

'Excuse me,' said Dr. Crosby.

Mary-Ann continued to file her nails.

Dr. Crosby coughed politely to attract her attention.

'Oh sorry I didn't see you there.'

_That's because you were too busy to filing your nails rather than doing your job._

Dr. Crosby's facial expressions gave away none of the annoyance that her thoughts contained for she was not someone who regularly showed her emotions.

'Hello. My name is Dr. Karri Crosby. I have an interview secluded with DCI Jack Meadows for 10:30.'

'If you'd just like to take a seat over there,' said Mary-Ann, pointing to where a row of chairs stood against the back wall, 'I'll give DCI Meadows a call and let him now you're here.'

'Thank you.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'Dr. Karri Crosby?' a voice, with an accent that was Yorkshire in sound, asked.

Dr. Crosby looked up to see a middle-aged man, arm extended towards her, with a grey hair that was gradually receding, blue eyes, and wearing a pale blue shirt with a tie that had was brown with white spotted pattern on it and a pair of trousers that look like they had come from a suit. She took his extended arm and shook the hand, speaking as she did so.

'Yes I am Dr. Karri Crosby,' she confirmed, 'and you must be DCI Jack Meadows, I presume.'

'I am,' he replied. 'I wished to speak to you personally-'

'Of course,' interrupted Dr. Crosby. 'You must be very worried about your colleague.'

'He's much more than just a colleague. He's a friend too. Now if you follow me I think we should continue this conversation where we can get a bit more privacy.'

With that he led her through the doors into the main part of the nick and into one of the interview rooms that were used to interview suspects and witnesses.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'Can I get you a cup of tea before we begin?' Jack asked the psychologist.

'No, thank you, DCI Meadows, but I do appreciate the offer,' she declined, politely. 'I was wondering if you could give me a little bit of background information on Mr. Webb. What was he like when you first met him?'

'Well when I first met Mickey it was in April 2000 when he transferred to Sun Hill from Dagenham station. He was very young for a DC and, perhaps as a result of his lack of age, he was very cocky and ambitious and a big risk taker: which often got him in trouble,' Jack couldn't help smiling at the memory of how Mickey had once been. _And look at him now: he's nothing. He doesn't even know who he is all he knows is what Delaney's brainwashed him to believe._

'And as the years went by all that changed?'

'Yes. I think the fact that life just seemed to throw him constant anguish has something to do with it. Back in 2002 the girl he loved was killed in a fire at this very station and then, the following year, his mum was killed in a traffic accident while visiting him and then, later that same year, he was raped by Delaney. All these things have had an effect on him; especially the rape. It left him older and wiser in experience but a lot more vulnerable too.'

'I remember reading about the rape in the papers at the time. That must have affected him deeply; having such a traumatic experience splashed in the papers.'

'Yes I feel it did. Everyday we went to the court during the trial the media would be standing outside the court all wanting to hear about the officer who was raped and what chance had young girls got if the Met couldn't even protect its male officers from sexual assault? It was a hard time for Mickey but he was a strong young man and he got through it.'

'And it was you that supported him through this terrible time, as both a colleague and a friend?'

'Yes.'

'What about family?'

'Well, as I mentioned earlier, his mother is dead and she was the only one he was close to. His father was a violent man and he used to hit Mickey's mum when Mickey was little and although they've reconciled they don't have much to do with each other. His brother lives in Essex so he doesn't have much to do with him either in fact I don't think his brother knows about the rape.'

'I imagine Mickey has found it difficult to speak about his rape.'

'Yes he has.'

'And what was his state of mind like before his disappearance?'

'A mix, really. See not long before his disappearance he managed to pluck up the courage to tell his girlfriend about it, the rape I mean, and that dragged it all up for him but the last day he was seen before the disappearance he seemed untroubled and rather happy; almost like the Mickey I knew prior to the rape.'

'I see,' said Dr. Crosby, tucking a strand of her ginger hair behind her ears. 'So let's bring this bang up to date shall we? Delaney escapes from prison and kidnaps Mickey then makes him drive down to Hampshire where he keeps him locked away in an abandoned farmhouse and subjects him to sexual, psychological and physical abuse, is that right?'

'Yes.'

'And according to the report I got from the doctor that examined him at the rape suite in St. Hugh's he hasn't been responding to his name, is that correct?'

'It is,' confirmed Jack.

'Now that was on Friday so has there been any change since then? Has he responded to his name since then?'

'No. He's been with me this weekend, I had to I couldn't let him go home and sit on his own all weekend not when he's like _that_,' explained Jack. 'Every time I call his name he keeps saying: "the name Mickey Webb is dead," over and over again and rocking himself.'

_Well that's interesting._

'And has he said anything else?'

'No he won't speak. I think he might be afraid of me.'

'And where is he now?'

'In my office, upstairs, I had to bring him here; there was no else for him to go.'

'That's fine. If it's alright with you, DCI Meadows, I'd like to go up there and do a psychological assessment on him.'

'Of course, I shall take you up there now.'

As he led the way up the stairs to CID and his office Jack Meadows touched the psychologist's shoulder and whispered, with a hopeful look on his face:

'He is going to get better isn't he?'

A small smile escaped Dr. Crosby's lips. It was clear the DCI valued his younger colleague as a friend and that they had had, prior to all this, a close bond with one another; almost like the bond between a father and his son.

'Let's just wait until I've assessed him first, shall we? Then we can see how the land lies and what we can do to help him get better.'

'Yes, of course, anyway we're here now.'

Slowly Jack opened the office door. Dr. Crosby felt her heart race as she anticipated what sort of state the young man, who lay on the other side of the door, was in.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dr. Crosby's eyes roved around the room; taking in the office. Like the rest of the station there was nothing partially special about it. It was just your average run-of-the-mil Met office with a blue floor, wooden doors and coffee walls. The coffee walls were aligned with various police paraphernalia such as photographs of Jack with his past relief when he was a uniformed officer. Rather deadpan, and bog standard. Dr. Crosby's eyes caught on the desk. It was littered with the DCI's paperwork. There was also two photo frames containing photographs of happier times; one was of Jack and Mickey with a suspect from the Brittaniamania case and the other was a photograph of Jack and his ex-wife, Laura, with their children when the children were little; long before their parent's marriage had gone sour.

It was then Dr. Crosby's eyes caught on the blonde-haired figure hunched over himself in the corner of the room. He was a skinny, young man, possibly in his early thirties and was clearly wearing clothes that did not belong to him. He was, in fact, wearing one of Jack's old shirts and a pair of his trousers, which had been the only thing Jack had been able to find for him to wear. Jack had even had to dress the poor young man himself; something which had caused both men heartache. The young blonde-haired man was clutching onto a cuddly toy, a rabbit by the look of it, (it was the same cuddly rabbit that Jack had purchased for him at the hospital) as if it was the only thing in the world he truly trusted.

Dr. Crosby's brown eyes scanned the patient. He had sparkling blue eyes, so attractive yet so full of the pain of what he had endured the last four weeks. Dark shadows encircled the skin around those lovely blue eyes, showing exhaustion and his golden hair was matted with sweat, revelling signs of distress

Intuitively Dr. Crosby realised her appearance was too professional and removed the bobble that held her ginger hair in a pony tail and withdrew her slightly horn-rimmed glasses.

'Hello,' said Dr. Crosby, gently.

There was no reaction. Softly she pattered the young man on the arm. He flinched from her touch and tried to crawl away from her.

'It's ok. I'm not going to hurt you,' she assured him.

The young man seemed to relax when, suddenly, he got sight of Jack, who all this time had remained by the office door. The young man started to panic; his breaths coming out hollow as he tired to put as much distance between him and the older man.

'No,' he cried in an Essex accent, 'no more we do sex, please!!!'

'Shush!!! It's ok no one's going to do any sex with you,' Dr. Crosby tired to soothe him.

'The man over there!!! 'E does!!! Just like Mr. Delaney did.'

'It's ok. He's not going to do what Mr. Delaney did.'

'Yes 'e is!!! Make 'im go away!!!'

Dr. Crosby turned to Jack and whispered:

'I think you should leave. Don't worry he'll be ok with me.'

Unable to do anything more than trust this woman and take her word Jack left the office. When he had gone Dr. Crosby turned back to Mickey and said:

'He's gone now.'

Mickey seemed visibly more relaxed.

'I'm Dr. Crosby but you can just call me Karri,' she said, 'and your Mickey, aren't you?'

He shook his head.

'Name Mickey is dead. My name is Pretty-boy,' he spoke in a very child-like manner.

'Oh! Ok.'

She smiled at him but all she got back in response was a blank, hollow-stare.

'I'm sorry,' he said, at length. 'I tried to be a good… good boy like Mr. Delaney wanted but it was too hard…'urt to much... not want to do it again… know…know I 'ave to.'

'Shhh… you don't have to do that again, Pretty-boy,' she winched at using such a degrading name but if it got him to respond to her then, for the time being, it would have to do.

Unsure and alone with this strange lady Mickey clung on tighter to his rabbit. The sleeves of the shirt Mickey was wearing fell back, relieving the red marks from where he'd been tied to the bed in the farmhouse and the bruises from where Delaney had hit him.

'Did someone do that to you?' Dr. Crosby asked him.

Mickey nodded.

'Did Mr. Delaney do that to you?'

Again Mickey nodded.

''E made me bleed too,' he added, 'but not on my 'ands.'

He looked at her with expectant eyes; hoping he had said and done the right thing.

'Where…Where did Mr. Delaney make you bleed?' she asked gingerly, only too aware of what the answer was.

Mickey removed his trousers. His underwear was badly stained with blood from the bleed he'd started that morning.

'There,' he said, in his child-like voice, pointing to the crack in between his buttocks.

_Oh God!!!_

Dr. Crosby did not know what to say. There had never been a day in all her life where she had been as speechless as she was now.

'Ok, Pretty-boy, you can put your clothes back on now.'

The young man did so.

'I'm going to go now but I shall come back tomorrow and see how you are, ok?'

He nodded, meekly.

As soon as she got out of the door she found Jack Meadows waiting for her.

'How is he?' Jack asked, concern written all over his face.

'Not good,' she admitted. 'He's frightened of everything especially being touched and doing something wrong which are clear signs of the abuse he's suffered. He won't answer to his name only "pretty-boy" which I can only assume is what this Delaney brainwashed him into doing and he's showing signs of regressing into childlike behaviour which is most probably a reaction to what has happened to him and the fact that he does not understand why it has happened to him.'

Jack's face feel. Dr. Crosby noticed this and so she hastily added:

'The plus side is that you found him when you did. Any longer and the psychological damage that has been done to him would have been irreversible but, because you found him when you did, I shall be able to treat him. I'm not promising some miracle cure here, DCI, it will take months not days for Mickey to get back to how he was before his disappearance and it's going to be a long, hard journey for both you but the thing to remember is that he _will _get back to how he was. You need to remember that even when he's having a bad day and is inconsolable and it seems the Mickey you knew is dead. I have to go now but I shall be back tomorrow, about the same time, to see how he is.'

'What should I do until then?'

'Just keep looking after him and reassure him that he's safe with you; that your not going to rape him or hit him like Delaney did.'

'Ok and thank you, doctor.'

'You can thank me when he's better, DCI Meadows.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

As Dr. Crosby drove through the streets on Canley to her next appointment she could not stop thinking about Mickey. She had dealt with many victims of abuse and rape in her career but the sight of them had not shocked as the sight of that attractive young man with the golden hair and sparkling blue eyes had; even though he was in his thirties clutching a teddy and behaving as if he was a child, not even recognising his closet friend instead shouting at him to go away; frightened that he was going to rape like Delaney had. Dr. Crosby forced the images from her mind.

_Stay focused, Karri, your job is to help people like Mickey not get yourself emotionally involved with their ordeal._

She closed her eyes, sighed, and then pulled outside the house of her next patient. Alert, focused and emotionally detached as per normal.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_Tuesday 3rd October to Wednesday 4th October_

The sound of someone knocking upon his office door awoke Jack from his thoughts.

'Enter,' he boomed out.

Mia Perry entered the room.

'Oh Jack!' she cried out before the DCI had a chance to speak. 'What's Delaney done to him?!'

'He's getting help now,' was the only think Jack could find to say.

'I know but it's so hard; seeing him like this,' the tears rolled down her cheeks.

'Come here,' said Jack, pulling her close.

The tears continued to fall down Mia's face as she clutched to Jack's chest and he held onto her tightly, trying to reassure her with words of comfort.

After a few minutes Mia's tears lessened to sobs and she pulled away from Jack's arms; clearly embarrassed by her unprofessional manner.

'Is the…is the psychologist coming to see him today?' she asked.

'Yes.'

'What time?'

'10:30. So she should be here in a few minutes.'

'I just want the Mickey I know back,' she sighed.

_Yeah, me too._

'That's what the psychologist is going to do, Mia, I promise you!'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Nervously pacing outside Interview Room 3 Dr. Karri Crosby cursed herself for being so amateurish. Why oh why had she told DCI Meadows she could repair Mickey's damaged mind when we had her doubts and worried that the young man was beyond her repair. Like so many others before, she had found herself captivated by the young DC Webb's golden locks and alluring baby blue eyes that she could not help feeling she could heal the young man who has suffered so much in the last month; more than most people ever would in a life-time. She had never felt so inconsequential in all of her thirty-five years.

Dr. Crosby opened the wooden door of Interview Room 3 and entered the room, removing her glasses and letting down her hair as she did so. She scanned the room. It was a typical police interview room. A desk sat in the middle of the room with chairs at either side of it and in the corner next to the door sat a tape recorder which was used to record suspects' interviews. And, there, in the far corner, gently rocking himself and clutching onto his dear rabbit, was Mickey Webb.

Squatting down in front of him Karri desperately tried to avoid eye-contact with him; knowing how much it alarmed him. She held back the tears which were building up in her brown eyes and softy said:

'Mickey,' determined to re-teach him to respond to his actual name. 'That's your name, ok? You remember me don't you?'

'You're the lady you came to see me yesterday,' replied Mickey, in his child-like manner without ever once looking at her.

'Yes that's right. It's ok I'm not going to hurt you,' Karri reassured him, 'please look at me.'

With great trepidation Mickey raised his head and, for a fraction of a second, his blue eyes met her brown before the horror of having to meet another person's gaze overwhelmed him and he broke the contact. That fraction of a second was the first time he had ever looked another person in the eye since Delaney had kidnapped him.

Karri noticed that he was his trembling had increased when had lost eye-contact and that he had shrank away from her, frightened that she was going to hit him.

'It's ok. You can look away. I just wanted to see those pretty, blue, eyes of yours.'

'Pretty,' he muttered, 'that's what Mr. Delaney called me.'

'I know,' she sighed, 'I know.'

Longing to change the subject and get Mickey talking about something more positive she asked:

'Can you tell me about your house? Where do you live?'

'I not got 'ome,' he informed her.

'Yes you do. You just don't remember it.'

'No. No 'ome just the farm'ouse were me and Mr. Delaney were staying.'

'No. That is not your home.'

He flinched; as if preparing himself for a blow that never came. While in his mind the memories of Delaney's words resurfaced.

'_Nobody wanted you. You are an insignificant thing!!'_

Grabbing on tighter to his rabbit Mickey shut his eyes and brought his knees up to his body, rocking himself and letting out little whines of fear, like he had done at the hospital while he and Jack were waiting for the doctor to examine him. The tears fell from his eyes.

'_You disgust me crying like a wee bairn!!!' _

Mickey agreed; praying it would make his abuser go away.

'Insignificant…disgusting…nobody wanted me,' Mickey repeated over and over again.

Dismayed by Mickey's sudden and dramatic change in behaviour Karri reached over to comfort the young man but, of course, he moved away from her touch.

'There's just you and me here, Mickey. He isn't here to hurt you,' she said softy, referring to Delaney.

But, despite her reassurances, his constant whimpering continued.

'Mickey it's just me, I promise you, open your eyes, please.'

On her command Mickey opened his eyes and as he did so he found the nasty voice and harsh words vanished and there was only the kindly psychologist, smiling at him with compassion.

'Mickey can you here me?'

'Mick…ey?' He said drawing the syllables out.

'Yes that's you,' Karri replied.

He pointed to himself. 'Me Mickey,' he said, triumphantly.

'Yes that's right and I'm Karri.'

Kar…ri,' he repeated, drawing out the syllables and pointing at the young psychologist.

For the first time in a month Mickey felt safe.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

As Dr. Crosby proceeded to leave Sun Hill Station she felt someone tap her on the shoulder. She instantly spun round and found herself face to face with a woman in her thirties with curly brown hair and brown eyes.

'Excuse me,' said the brown-haired woman, 'I'm Mia Perry – Mickey Webb's girlfriend – DCI Meadows told me that you are the psychologist who is working to make him better and I was wondering how he is?'

'Not good I'm afraid, Ms. Perry, he's suffered a tremendous amount of abuse from Delaney and I'm afraid it's going to take a long time to repair the psychological damage that has been done to him.'

'How long will it take?'

'A couple of months and even then I cannot guarantee that he will be back to his old self.'

'Oh,' said Mia, subdued.

'The human mind is a fragile thing, Ms. Perry, and like all fragile things it can be destroyed in minutes but can take months if not years to repair.'

'I appreciate that, doctor, but I want the Mickey I fell in love with – _my _Mickey – back.'

'I know how hard it must be for you to see him like this, Ms. Perry, and, if you wish, I can put you in touch with one of the local counsellor – they are all excellent at what they do – they can help you through this difficult time.

Thank you for the offer but I am fine.'

'Ok. Anyway I must go now as I have another appointment to get to. If you do change your mind about the counselling don't hesitate to let me know.'

As Dr. Crosby walked out of the she couldn't help but glance back at Mia. Being a highly-trained psychologist Dr. Crosby could tell when someone was clearing stressed and upset at seeing someone they loved being psychologically damaged. She could see this in Mia now and she knew that the Press Officer could have benefited greatly from having a counsellor to help her come to terms with the dramatic change in Mickey's behaviour. She sighed, remembering that she could only offer people support and not force it upon them no matter how much she believed they needed it.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

It was early evening and Karri was sitting in her flat glancing over her notes from that day's appointments. She was currently looking at her notes on Mickey; which were scribbled down on a scrap piece of paper she had managed to find in Jack's office. It may have looked unprofessional, and later she would type it up on a computer and put in Mickey's file, but for now it would do for notes that only she herself was going to read:

Name: Michael Webb.

Date of birth: 22 May 1975

Shows clear signs of being sexually, physically and psychologically abused such as an aversion to human contact, trepidation of sudden movements which he perceives as threatening no matter how slight, failure to respond to his own name; referring to himself as "Pretty-boy" and believing himself to be insignificant. Avoids questions were possible and shows signs of having regressed it some sort of childhood. This is evident when he speaks as speaks in child-like manner. Also the possibility he is suffering from auditory hallucinations i.e. hearing the voice of his abuser although his abuser is not present in the room. This "voice" is clearly coming from his memories and flashbacks.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

They had been people everywhere all day, coming and going in the strange building where the man in the cream trench coat had taken him everyday, but now he was alone in the big house that he had spent all weekend in with only the balding man with the cream trench coat and he was frightened of this man and, indeed, all men: frightened that his man would rape and abuse him just as Delaney had done.

Jack raided the freezer for something for them both to eat while Mickey sat on the far end of Jack's sofa, his back rigid and tense, staring out of the window and clutching onto his cuddly rabbit. His fragile mind wondering why this man kept bringing him here and what he wanted with him. He did not want this to happen again; didn't want another man to use him just for sex and their own pleasure but he knew he had to be a good boy had to do what his and any other man wanted him to do no matter how much he detested it.

Jack Meadows may have been a good DCI and friend but, sadly, the same could not be said of his cooking skills. When he had been married it had been this then wife, Laura Meadows, who had done the cooking which meant, consequently, the food that he had found and cooked for Mickey and himself was rather on the either undercooked or burnt side.

Mickey played about with the food on his plate, not wishing to consume the poorly cooked food but seriously horrified of what the man would do to him if he didn't. As if he had sensed the young man's fear Jack said:

'It's ok.'

''Ave to eat it I…I…I know,' said Mickey.

Jack reached across the table and tired to clasp the young man's hand but Mickey flinched from the touch.

'It's ok, Mickey, you don't have to eat the food if you don't want to. I'm not going to hurt you if you don't eat it, it's ok,' he reassured Mickey.

'You want me too.'

'No, not if you don't want to!!'

Mickey stood up, wincing from the cuts and bruises in his anus. He made his way towards the sofa. Halfway between it and the kitchen table he stood and turned to face Jack. There was such a hollow, empty and emotionless look in his eyes that Jack couldn't help gasping with shock.

'Know…know what you want,' said Mickey, 'and I give it to you 'cause I'm a good boy now…good boy.'

The cuddly rabbit, which he had constantly held onto, dropped to the floor as he pulled down his trousers and his underwear so that he was now semi-naked.

'Now you can do sex with me like you want. Me good boy now,' insisted Mickey, smiling.

_Oh God, Mickey, what's happened to you?!!!_

Jack went pale. He didn't know what to do or say. The most involvement he had ever had with a victim of abuse or rape was taking their statements when they came to the station and reported their abuse. Even though he knew it was not Mickey's fault Jack was shocked and disturbed to see his friend acting like this. He decided it would be best to speak to Dr. Crosby about this tomorrow.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

'-And he just stood there and removed his trousers and offered me sex.'

'Did he say anything while he removed his trousers?'

It was the following morning and Jack Meadows was making his way towards Interview Room 3, where Mickey was to be found, with Dr. Karri Crosby; explaining about what had occurred last night.

'Yes. He said that he knew what I wanted and that he would give it to me because he was a good boy now. Then he said that now I could do sex with him like he thought I wanted and, again, that he was a good boy now.'

'Obviously that is the main issue we have to address. We need to teach him that not having sex with every man that he meets does not mean he is a bad boy and urgently before he repeats last night's behaviour in front of a complete stranger.'

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The sound of footsteps upon the grey carpet of Interview Room 3 startled the young man with the sparkling blue eyes and blonde hair. Immediately he reproached himself for flinching. He knew that flinching was wrong and that he should accept the sex that these men wanted from him and not show any sign of fear of it. Rejecting the sex offered by the ones he was meant to be with was wrong; he knew that. Mr. Delaney had told him that it was true plenty of times. But the other was not another man but a woman. That was ok; women were safe; women did not want to use him to relieve their sexual frustrations.

'Hi Mickey,' said the women.

'Mickey…' The name echoed in his ears; almost mocking him. That wasn't his name anymore, he knew, didn't deserve that name anymore. His name was "Pretty-boy," the only name he deserved how that he was Mr. Delaney's own whore; he knew that, why didn't this woman? He would have to tell her before Mr. Delaney discovered he was calling him by the name he did not deserve anymore and did something to hurt her just as he had hurt him.

'Not my name any more,' he said, without once making eye-contact with her.

Her hand moved towards him. He tensed and clung onto his cuddly rabbit as the hand touched him. Her hand was soft and warm it clasped his arm but did not caress him or violate him with it's touching and taking as Delaney's had done. He remembered that women were safe; didn't want sex from him unlike men. He hated men.

'You do remember me, don't you Mickey?' asked the woman's voice.

He looked at the woman with ginger hair and brown eyes, who was kind and friendly. Yes he remembered her.

'Karri,' he said, so softly that she was unsure, at first, if he had spoken.

'Very good,' she encouraged with a thumbs up sign. 'How are you feeling today?'

His eyes immediately widened, so that she could she the whites around them, in panic. What was the answer? He needed _the_ answer, quick, if he didn't answer now he'd get another beating or worse, he knew it.

''Am bad,' he smiled, triumphantly, but the smile was quickly wiped from his face as Delaney's words echoed in his mind:

'_Bad? What?! Are these living conditions not good enough for you, Mickey? Do you want more, you wretched male whore!' _

'I mean good!' replied Mickey, suddenly.

'_Good? Oh you feel good? Are you trying to mock me, DC Webb? I can change that for you!'_

'No, no don't 'it me anymore, please,' he begged, shaking and crying to himself; clinging onto this dear rabbit for life.

Shocked by Mickey's sudden transformation Karri tried to comfort him but he crawled away from her touch.

'Mickey, it's me, Karri. No one's going to hit you, Mickey. It's just you and I here, no one else.'

'Promise?'

'Yes.'

'Cross your 'eart an' 'ope to die?' he asked in his Essex accent, which Karri couldn't help but find cute.

'Yes.'

'Stick a needle in your eye?'

'Yes.'

He seemed satisfied by that response. Suddenly did something which Karri had never excepted him to do; not this early in the therapy. He laid his head upon her knees, albeit rather cautiously at first, and let her run her fingers through his golden hair. Karri couldn't help smiling to herself at this subtle sign of trust and big breakthrough.

'Your nice. I like you,' Mickey muttered before drifting off into a dreamless sleep; the first nightmare free sleep he had had since Jack had rescued him from the old farmhouse at the foot of Butser Hill.


End file.
